


You Know My Name

by Reia (R314)



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Amnesia, Angst, F/M, Mystery, Romance, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2018-10-20 18:08:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 47
Words: 154,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10668012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R314/pseuds/Reia
Summary: Five years ago, he washed ashore at a tiny fishing village with no identity, no memory. When the man who named him Goku passes away, he’s determined to uncover his past and find the woman haunting his dreams…





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some character elements inspired from classics like The Long Kiss Goodnight (with Goku in a nod to Geena Davis’ role, lol) and other famous movies—pretty much any movie that has amnesia in it, haha! Hoping you like this twist on amnesiac Kakarrot > Goku trope… :) And yes, the title is from Bond XD

He stepped out of the airplane wide-eyed, his lips parted in an “o” of surprise. It wasn’t until someone angrily bumped into him that he was brought out of his daze. He turned to apologize for being in the way, flashing the young woman a happy grin.

 

She looked startled and turned an interesting shade of red, her lashes fluttering.

 

“Oh, ah, um, no, _I’m_ sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going,” the girl babbled, and he wondered what was making her so nervous. He shrugged and nodded, still with that wide smile and made his way to the baggage area.

 

His Grampy had told him before he passed away that trying to find his past might uncover more than he bargained for — especially since he’d been found on a beach, battered, broken and half-dead. No one in the remote fishing village he called home for the past five years had any idea what had happened.

 

Grampy had found him, nursed him back to health, gave him a home and a name — Goku. Grampy urged him to move on from the past for he was worried about the pain that had brought him to the shore. So, Goku had tried to move on and he was content with the simple life he shared with Grampy and the village… but one day Grampy had a heart attack, leaving Goku alone and without family once more.

 

He was still devastated.

 

Still, Goku knew he had to move on. The old man had added him to his will, leaving him with some money. Goku had been surprised that the modest man had enough to give him a sizable inheritance. Enough to leave the island, maybe figure out who he really was.

 

To find his _real_ family.

 

They had to be somewhere!

 

Grampy and the village had shown him a lot of love, and when the old man died suddenly, Goku realized that he might have his real mother, real father, _real_ grampy somewhere feeling the same sort of grief he did when the old man passed.

 

But Goku was very much alive.

 

He couldn’t stand the idea of _purposely_ causing anyone pain and trying to find his family would only bring happiness, right?

 

Also, Goku couldn’t resist a great adventure! Since arriving on Grampy’s shores five years ago, he hadn’t left the island and he felt restless… like something was missing.

 

Like something was out there _waiting_ for him.

 

Truly, he only had _one_ clue as to his origins and that was due to this looks and his accent. He definitely didn’t come from the island. When the villagers were all speculating his origins, they said he must have been from Chikyuu, the mainland. Dr. Baba, who helped nurse him back to health, had speculated that he was most likely from West City, since that was the closest major city off the island.

 

Goku booked a ticket to West City as soon as he was able to cobble together his meager belongings and use the money from his small inheritance.

 

It was a good step as any.

 

Beyond that, he didn’t have much of a plan.

  
Still, since his Grampy passed, it was the first time Goku felt genuine happiness and excitement again. This city was new, the people looked _different,_ there was a lot to see, oh and he was really looking forward to trying all the different types of food…!

 

Some of the more worldly villagers had woven tales of exotic dishes and banquets and interesting meats and sauces…

 

He couldn’t wait!

 

But most of all, he was ever so hopeful he still had family, somewhere.

 

.

.

.

_On the other side of West City…_

 

 

Chi-Chi Mau hummed happily as she walked her quiet four-year-old to the library. There was a weekly story time event, one that parents in the neighborhood volunteered for. This was her week to volunteer, though she went with Gohan _every_ week, since he so adored stories and reading. He was quite advanced for his age, already able to read at a grade one level.

 

Honestly, Chi-Chi _loved_ story time too, because she loved children. Had hoped to be happily married with a parcel of them by now, but no, she turned into a cliché like any other — met a very bad man and had very bad (naughty, amazing) sex…

 

… and was dropped like a hot potato the moment he got bored.

 

Then he disappeared without a trace, leaving her pregnant and alone.

 

Tale as old as time.

 

Still, after almost five years, the bitterness and heartbreak had long since faded.

 

And it was hard to stay mad when Gohan was her world.

 

Sometimes, when the night was still and Gohan was sleeping in her arms, she would see _him_ in Gohan’s relaxed features. It was the eyes, mostly, a little bit his jaw… Gohan’s looks favored her more, but there was still so much of his father in him that it made her heart clench to think about it.

 

Still, she was a fighter. Her circumstances were _much_ better than most women, as her father was rather wealthy and adored her. She also had a group of tight-knit friends who came to her aid.

 

She and Gohan had all the support systems in place and she was grateful for that.

 

She was happy.

 

It was enough.

 

.

.

.

 

Goku was really pleased with his decision to move to West City.

 

From the moment he walked off the plane, _everyone_ was so kind… he wondered why his adopted island was so suspicious of city folk. Every time he asked a question or needed directions, people were willing to accommodate him.

  
The women, especially, were extremely nice.

 

Some even went as far as writing their names and numbers for him if he had more questions about the city and needed to be shown around! And they were so affectionate; the islanders made it seem like city folk were cold and aloof, but almost all the women he met gave him hugs and didn’t seem afraid to touch him.

 

It was through one of the women he met that pointed him toward the public library, so he could try to figure out next steps.

 

He knew the most important was figuring out how he could live and work with an identity that technically wasn’t real. So far, he had been using Grampy’s information for everything — Grampy’s full name was Gohan Goku Son — so whenever he introduced himself as Goku, people simply assumed that he was using his middle name.

 

Dr. Baba had warned him that he wouldn’t get far without getting all the right documents and had sagely told him to get a job at a restaurant ASAP, as they were the most likely to be sympathetic and accommodating to someone undocumented.

 

Dr. Baba had said to give it at least a year before he turn himself to the police. It scared Goku, but he was sure that was the old doctor’s last-ditch attempt to get him to stay. The old woman had gravely told him that the circumstances of his arrival were very suspicious and while no one thought _he_ could hurt a fly, the way they knew him now, it was possible that he _had_ been mixed up with something dangerous.

 

Maybe even criminal.

 

While that prospect terrified him, instead of scaring him to stay, it made his determination to go even more strong. He would never want to willingly put the villagers in danger if he was in any way shape or form a potential harm to them. He had an innate sense of responsibility he couldn’t explain, and his Grampy taught him about honor and honesty… if he _had_ done something bad, then he would need to atone for it.

 

If he deserved to be in jail, so be it, though he really couldn’t imagine himself doing anything that could hurt anyone… the idea made him sick.

 

But the other alternative was that he was the _victim…_ and if that was the case, then the police _would_ be able to help ID him, he could be reunited with his real family (hopefully) and get some sort of closure that way.

 

In the meantime, Goku was going to try a year to figure it all out himself and see what it all meant, so that if the negative option was the reality, then he had at least a chance to live a new life on his own terms.

 

Losing his memory and identity was also an interesting mystery to uncover as well, and he would be lying if he didn’t find it a _little_ exciting. There were things he knew innately that he couldn’t explain. For example, when Dr. Baba explained issues with documentation and fake IDs and passing as someone else…

 

For some reason, it didn’t feel confusing or alarming.

 

It felt… familiar.

 

And it was _his_ idea to use Grampy’s identity. He figured out how to imprint his photo over all the necessary documents, had written up a plausible back story to not scare anyone who asked.

 

He had strange sense of calm about it all.

 

He wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing, yet.

 

So far, all he knew was that he wasn’t hurting anyone and he didn’t mean to hurt anyone, and so that meant things were still good… right?

 

He sighed as he looked at his hastily scribbled to do list. First, he had to get a pay-as-you-go cell phone, then a place to live… then a job. In that order.

 

He was grateful Grampy left him with enough money to make all of this happen, so he didn’t feel anxious or rushed.

 

Goku smiled happily as he scrolled through the rental listings in the internet kiosk at the library. Once he narrowed down a few viable places, he was going to get a cell and then try to score a place who wouldn’t mind a cash deposit.

 

Worse came to worse, he didn’t mind sleeping on a park bench for an evening or two. He loved the outdoors, anyway.

 

There was a silver lining to everything.

 

.

.

.

 

_On the other side of West City…_

 

“You know those give you cancer,” Chi-Chi drawled as she approached the emergency ambulance entrance.

 

Dr. Bulma Briefs flicked her fading cigarette, her lips curling up much like a cat. She blew a wisp of smoke to the side as she regarded Chi-Chi’s pink scrubs.

 

“Well, look at you, Nurse Mau. Welcome back.”

 

Chi-Chi’s eyes crinkled. The last time she’d stepped into this hospital was when she gave birth to Gohan. Her privileged status allowed her to take her sweet time before starting up her old career.

 

“So, you sure about this? The ER is a fucking zoo tonight,” her old college roommate went on.

 

Chi-Chi shrugged. “I took a short shift. Only four hours. Going to try to ease into it.”

 

Gohan was sound asleep at her father’s, and it was a perfect time to try to see if she could juggle working as an ER nurse while still being a good mother.

 

“Ha! The night shift is _easing_ into it?” Bulma snorted, taking another swift puff.

 

Chi-Chi thought that she might as well dive into it head first. That was always her way — once she made up her mind, it was all or nothing.

 

Unfortunately, that applied to every aspect of her life… and it didn’t always turn out her way. She had long since made peace with her inner adrenaline junkie. She wondered if it was due to how she grew up so sheltered. Still, she figured as long as she addressed that urge through healthy means like her career, that she should be okay.

 

Bulma, too, was a little bit of an adrenaline junkie herself.

 

It was why they had gotten along so well in college.

 

And right on cue, they both heard the familiar blare of an ambulance as it zipped through the entrance. Bulma dropped her smoke and ground it under her Comme des Garçons sneakers and gestured her blue pixie-cropped hair toward the garage.

 

Chi-Chi felt her pulse begin to race as she heard the EMTs shout the patient’s condition to the attending physicians and nurses.

 

“Come on, let’s wash up and sign in,” Bulma said with a wide grin, her eyes sparking.

 

Chi-Chi grinned, thinking they resembled a medical Batman and Robin as they both jogged into the hospital, Bulma’s white coat flapping behind her.

 

.

.

.

 

He only had impressions of her.

 

Always in the periphery, just out of the corner of his eye. He could never quite make her out; there were flashes of the smoothest skin he’d ever seen, a clavicle, a shoulder.

 

Sometimes all he saw was dark hair, spread out against white, cascading like an inky wave.

 

Other times, he saw nothing at all, but _heard_ … sighs, such breathy sighs, mixed with laughter.

 

The dreams came sporadically, with no discernible rhyme or reason.

 

Tonight had been one of the more vivid dreams.

 

He was still trying to catch his breath, blinking in shock and adjusting himself underneath his new bedsheets. He still hadn’t been able to truly get a handle of her features, get more than just sensation, but in _this_ dream, she hadn’t simply flitted in between the corners of his mind…

 

… this had been explicit.

 

His hands still tingled from the phantom sensation of holding those creamy thighs.

 

Goku had no idea what to do with these particular dreams.

 

Grampy had taught him that women were special creatures, to be respected and cherished, and to treat them with the utmost care. Goku had taken all that to heart, never once trying to overstep any personal boundaries. It was rather easy since everyone on the island was so nice and Goku never wanted to harm anyone.

 

He also never really had whatever urges Grampy said most men had. He was often _more_ excited about fishing and hunting, helping people build furniture or other odd jobs, working out, and training with Grampy in martial arts.

 

Women were fun to be with, sometimes really nice to look at, and he loved helping them carry and fix things… but he never wanted to do more than just talk and hang out. Sometimes, they cuddled with him and he was fine with that. He enjoyed the physical comfort.

 

Except in these dreams.

 

What he and this woman did in his dreams were definitely beyond cuddling…

 

It was rather confusing.

 

He wondered, often, if she was real.

 

Maybe he had this particular dream because he was in West City.

 

He wondered if _she_ was in West City.

 

He wasn’t sure if that prospect excited or terrified him.

 

.

.

.

 

_On the other side of West City…_

 

 

Chi-Chi gasped as she shuddered in release, her fingers stilling as the warm waves of her climax washed over her.

 

What started as a way to get her quickly to sleep after her first night shift at work had grown out of hand… pun intended, she thought wryly, as she took a few steadying breaths.

 

She had thought of _him_ for the first time in years. Normally, when she indulged herself alone, her mind was blank and she simply focused on the sensation.

 

Tonight, though, she conjured up images that she’d long since buried. And it had gotten her so turned on, thinking about those large calloused hands, that broad torso that tapered down to a perfectly chiseled stomach… and the way he used to drive into her… she almost felt ashamed.

 

_Almost._

 

She knew it had to do with the hospital, being there for the first time in years, bringing back memories of when they first connected.

 

At least, the first time they connected that eventually led to Gohan’s existence.

 

She _technically_ first met him at the playground when they were kids.

 

Though, bleeding out on a gurney was a _long_ way from that… that was a definite turning point. She wondered about her own foolhardiness, getting mixed up with a patient, and one with a shifty background at that.

 

Had she really been that stupid?

  
That naive?

 

It felt like a lifetime ago. A different person ago.

 

She sighed, that familiar ache in her heart squeezing her again. It didn’t hurt that much to think about him any more, but Pre-Gohan Chi-Chi was a romantic and Post-Gohan Chi-Chi still had traces of Pre-Gohan milling about.

 

She wondered if that _still_ made her stupid and naive.

.

.

.


	2. Chapter 2

_Just over five years ago…_

 

 

Chaos.

 

Chi-Chi thrived in chaos.

 

So, even though her feet were aching at the tail end of her 10-hour shift and she’d been vomited on at least twice in the same hour, she was still in high spirits.

 

She enjoyed the rush of helping save lives and the rollercoaster of emotions that came with it.

  
It was a far cry from being the “princess of Fire Mountain” or whatever the media used to call her when she was younger. A far cry from the sheltered upbringing as the daughter of one of the most powerful business men in her old mountain town.

 

But this was _West City_ , the big city. She was anonymous here; no one knew who she was or cared, and Chi-Chi found that thrilling. The city pulsed with energy, real life and consequences. Literal life and death consequences and Chi-Chi wanted to be smack dab in the middle of all of it.

 

She was a fighter and every day was a new battle to be won.

 

And they were victories she _earned_ , as opposed to given.

 

Chi-Chi was changing out of her pink scrubs into the spare white one patterned with red strawberries. Just because she was going to be handling various human excretions didn’t mean she couldn’t look cute.

 

While she was quite happy, her body was starting to shut down and she was looking forward to the end of her shift and settling in her comfy bed. She would probably need a soaking bath the next day…

 

As Chi-Chi stepped back out into the fray, she saw Bulma zip past her as a new patient was rolled in straight from the ambulance.

 

“Gun shot wound, possible internal bleeding—”

 

Chi-Chi dashed over, her senses sharpening as she got to the patient. She couldn’t make much out yet since the paramedics and her other colleagues were blocking the way.

 

“Can someone get an ID of this guy?” Bulma barked and Chi-Chi saw Yamcha, the EMT usually doing the downtown rounds, fish around the man’s pockets, pulling out a wallet and quickly running through its contents.

 

“Kakarrot Korzen,” Yamcha shouted.

 

Chi-Chi started. Did he say _Kakarrot—_

 

“All right, someone call the police,” Bulma said brusquely, waving toward the rest of her staff as she busied trying to stabilize the patient.

 

“I know him…” Chi-Chi mumbled in shock, as she got closer and as she got a clearer view of the patient, it was confirmed—that was him! Her old classmate!

 

“No, wait, I know him,” Chi-Chi exclaimed, breaking through. “Don’t call the police! I know him! I know him!”

 

Bulma stared at her like she was crazy. “What the hell, Chi-Chi?”

 

“We went to school… we were friends, he’s a good guy,” Chi-Chi said rapidly, “He—”

 

“He should probably still make a statement on how this all happened,” Yamcha broke in. Bulma waved at the paramedic.

 

“Why are you still here? Let the grown ups work,” Bulma growled. Yamcha’s expression darkened, and he turned abruptly and walked away.

 

“He’s going into shock,” her colleague broke in.

 

Calling the police was forgotten in the ensuing chaos of saving her old childhood friend’s life.

 

Chaos.

 

Chi-Chi thrived in chaos.

 

.

.

.

 

“Christ, Chi-Chi, how do you know someone like him?” Bulma asked, tying her long hair back into a pony tail.

 

The past couple of hours were some of the most stressful in her entire life. She had gone over her own shift time to personally help stabilize and tend to Kakarrot alongside Bulma.

 

Though it had been a long time since she last saw him, all she remembered was her sweet childhood friend; the one who chased her at the playground and shared his ice cream. She had moved away from the old neighborhood when her father’s businesses started to succeed. Besides childhood, she remembered seeing flashes of him at college — he seemed to have turned out okay, despite the specter of his brother’s delinquency looming over his family.

 

Everyone on Fire Mountain knew about the Korzens because they were such a prominent family of contrasts. Their eldest, Raditz, was a troubled young man who got into the wrong crowd. He was frequently in the news for a variety of increasingly disturbing criminal activity: petty theft turned into armed robbery, and then most recently, he was part of a drug smuggling ring. Last she knew he’d been thrown in jail.

 

On the other side of the spectrum, Chi-Chi knew that Kakarrot was the Korzen’s golden child. They went to rival high schools but he was their star athlete, and as far as she knew, he’d gotten a full ride scholarship to college where she’d see him fleetingly in the halls or generally on campus.

 

She even had a little crush on him back then, but a guy like _him_ wouldn’t be interested in a nerd like herself. Besides, they clearly came from different worlds, socialized amongst different crowds.

 

So when she saw him nearly bleeding to death, she was convinced it was _none_ of his fault. Maybe it was related to his brother, but she couldn’t imagine the little boy that was kind to her once upon a time was the one who caused trouble.

 

“He’s from my hometown. He went to our college, too, B,” Chi-Chi said.

 

“Really?!” Bulma’s brows raised. They were old college roomies after all. “Why don’t I remember him?”

 

“He was that football guy…?”

 

Recognition slowly entered Bulma’s eyes. “Wow. Okay. He looks so different.”

 

Chi-Chi wondered what Bulma meant. She thought he looked the same, though yes, bleeding and pale was not the greatest look on him.

 

“It’s been a few years,” Chi-Chi allowed.

 

“All right girl, what a day. I’m bushed,” Bulma said with a drawn out breath. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

 

“Mid-afternoon, thank god,” Chi-Chi said with a nod.

 

Bulma gave her a final hug and left.

 

As Chi-Chi was about to leave and call for a cab, she felt the urge to check on her old childhood friend. Just one last time to verify he was okay.

 

But when she pulled back the curtain, the bed was empty. Her eyes widened as she grabbed his chart. He hadn’t been _discharged_ , so… where the hell was he?

 

She started to ask the staff if they saw Kakarrot wandering around but everyone was so busy that all they could do was shrug and shake their head.

 

Did he just walk right out?!

 

He was recovering from _a gun shot…!_

 

Chi-Chi wasn’t sure what to do as she wandered around the hospital trying to figure out next steps. Where could he be?

 

Eventually, she left the ER and went off to the side of the hospital to call a cab when she heard a small groan, and a distinct figure leaning against a wall.

 

“Sir?” Chi-Chi called, lowering her phone. “Sir, are you all right?”

 

Her nurse instincts kicked in and she jogged toward the figure. Sometimes, the people from the psych ward wandered off…

 

It was only when she got closer that she realized it was Kakarrot!

 

“Oh my god, what the hell are you doing out here?!” Chi-Chi exclaimed, immediately rushing to him and placing his arm under her shoulders.

 

“No hospital… no cops...” Kakarrot rasped.

 

“What?” Chi-Chi was stricken.

 

“N-no… cops…” he muttered and fell limp against her.

 

Chi-Chi panicked.

 

What the hell was she going to do now?!

 

.

.

.


	3. Chapter 3

_Present day..._

 

The next day, Goku felt like he’d been dropped in the middle of a whirlwind.

 

He had gone to a few restaurants with nothing but a smile and an offer to help out. A few had politely rejected him, but he was undeterred. But, the last restaurant he stopped by, a large Chinese restaurant which seemed to be serving dim sum at the moment, had been the winning prospect.

 

It was a place just at the edge of downtown, and when he walked in and asked if they were hiring, they immediately threw him an apron and shoved him in front of the dumpling station, where a few other frantic workers were hand wrapping each little wonton.

 

He _had_ arrived in the middle of brunch hour and they seemed to be scrambling.

 

Goku had no clue what the hell he was doing, but he _was_ a fast learner, and he _loved_ challenges. His new co-workers seemed amazed that after an hour, the new recruit seemed to be tossing new dumplings left, right and center.

 

At one point, people started cheering while he tried to see how much he could do in one minute flat. He stuck his tongue out as he tried to concentrate on his movements. One guy had his phone on timer while the rest cheered. He didn’t know how fast his fingers could move until then, and he was having a lot of fun.

 

“Done!” the timer guy shouted and Goku lifted his hands in triumph.

 

“Wow, that was, what? _Twenty_? That’s like three seconds per dumpling!” someone breathed.

 

“What’s going on!?” a voice boomed and all movement stopped. The short man in the red bandana waved his hand, “I didn’t say stop working, I asked what’s going on?”

 

The rest of the men started to fold dumplings again.

 

“Ah, Krillin, this is our new line cook, uh—” one of Goku’s co-workers, a short, rotund man with the most unkempt appearance began but trailed off when everyone realized that no one introduced each other; that he had simply been dropped in and expected to work.

 

“Goku. The name’s Goku,” he said with a laugh, extending his hand for a handshake. “How’re you?”

 

He saw the short man narrow his eyes and look at his other employees, ignoring his hand.

 

“Did you guys just grab some rando from the street when we were being slammed?”

 

“I just need a job. I’m happy to do whatever,” Goku said cheerfully.

 

“We pay very poorly,” Krillin said and Goku’s co-workers all snorted.

 

Goku shrugged with an easy smile. “That’s okay.”

 

Krillin frowned at him, then turned back to the other men. “I can’t believe you idiots. Go on, continue guys, and uh… Goku, right?”

 

“Yes, sir?”

 

Krillin blinked at him, disconcerted at the address. “Uh, why don’t you step in my office and we do this hiring thing more officially? They shouldn’t have just dumped you in the middle of everything.”

 

“He was doing such a great job, boss!” the rotund man exclaimed. “Hire him already.”

 

“That’s what I’m trying to do!” Krillin exclaimed. “Okay, come on, big guy, let’s go.”

 

Goku followed Krillin to his “office” which seemed to really be a utility closet with a small desk and computer shoved into it. Still, the door was able to close and Goku sat on the plastic chair in front of the desk.

 

“What brings you to Kame House Restaurant?” the short man asked, crossing his hands in front of him.

 

“I just moved to West City from Papaya Island,” he said easily, citing his rehearsed story. He planned to state the truth as much as possible. “You know, just wanting to have a fresh start. I worked at the marina with the fishermen so I know my way around gutting a fish and I thought a restaurant would be a good place to start to use the skills I have. I’m a very hard worker. I don’t mind long hours. I think I’m pretty decent to be around.”

 

Krillin leaned back and crossed his arms. “Do you have a criminal record?”

 

“Nope,” Goku said. As far as he knew, at least. He crossed the fingers in his lap in a childish gesture. He hoped Krillin wasn’t going to ask for an official police background check. “I don’t want any trouble. I just want to start a new life, that’s all. I don’t have any fancy credentials or anything. This is the best I can do and I’d really love the opportunity if you’d let me.”

 

“You may be asked to do things that aren’t a part of your job description.”

 

“I’m cool with that. Cleaning, cooking, waiter… as long as I am paid, I’ll do what’s needed,” Goku said. Krillin was nodding and nodding when Goku decided to drop his _one_ odd request. “But, I would prefer to be paid in cash, if possible.”

 

At that, a suspicious look entered Krillin’s expression. “Why?”

 

“I don’t trust banks,” Goku said, screwing his face and diving deep into the hippie persona that he concocted. It wasn’t far off the truth, either. “Do you know how much offshore oil they fund? Papaya Island suffered a lot from that latest oil spill. It’s disgusting what these corporate fat cats—”

 

Krillin lifted a hand, looking wry. “Okay, fine. I can only probably pay you only $200 a week for twenty hours of work to start. Let’s see how that goes and we can up your hours from there? Does that work?”

 

“Yes, sir!” Goku said, beaming.

 

“Er, just call me Krillin. ‘Sir’ sounds like you’re talking to my dad,” the shorter man said wryly, rubbing the back of his neck.

 

“Okay, thanks _Krillin_. I really appreciate the opportunity,” Goku said again.

 

“Sure. Let’s take a look at the schedule and see how to fit you in...”

 

Life was looking up, Goku thought.

 

.

.

.

 

Goku ended up staying for the rest of the day at Kame House with the rest of the crew: Kai, the head chef, and the line cooks/general staff Yajirobe, Tien Shinhan, and Chaotzu. Launch and Mai were the two waitresses that handled the front. He realized for such a bustling restaurant, that they had a _really_ small staff.

 

Still, Goku was grateful about that — he already felt like he was gaining some sort of kinship with the haphazard staff, Krillin especially. Even though he was the boss, Krillin was such an easygoing guy, exactly the type Goku liked.

 

And frankly, it was a little nice hanging out with people around his age… though he wasn’t sure what age that exactly _was_ yet, they were far from the senior citizens and middle-aged adults he mostly hung out with on the island. If it wasn’t that, he played with their kids, which was on the other spectrum.

 

He often went for a beer with the men on the island, but he was always the “young kid” — it was really nice to go to a bar after the restaurant closed with a group of people where he didn’t feel like _such_ an outsider, though he was.

 

After his second beer, he noticed Krillin kept staring at one of the women at the end of the bar. He angled his head toward the woman’s direction.

 

“Why don’t you go say hi?” Goku asked, his brows raised.

 

Krillin looked at him, stricken. “No, I… I can’t do that!”

 

“Why not?”

 

“I just… no. I can’t talk to women. I’m very bad at it.”

 

“You talk to Launch. You talk to Mai,” Goku pointed out.

 

“Yeah, but thats different, they’re my employees,” Krillin said, his face flushing. “And I’m not… _interested_ in either of them.”

 

Goku realized Krillin was really, _really_ shy. “ _Oh_. Well. _I_ can bring them over here if you want.”

 

Krillin’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “Ah, well, n-no, that’s okay!”

 

“Oh it’s fine,” Goku said easily, already getting off his stool and walking down the bar despite Krillin’s shaking head and hands.

 

He really didn’t understand the big deal. Women were always nice to _him_. In fact, after a couple minutes, the entire table of girls followed him back to Krillin.

 

All the men gaped at how easy Goku was able to charm them to come say hello.

 

“Please tell me your secrets,” Yajirobe whispered.

 

Goku had no idea what he was talking about.

 

All he did was introduce himself and said that they should join him and his friends at the bar.

 

Krillin was red-faced and stammering the entire time. Goku made a point to talk him up, about how Krillin owned a restaurant, was really kind to his workers, and look how cool he was, hanging out with all of them… Goku casually told the girl —Maron, he thought her name was?—who was smiling at Krillin the entire time that she should drop by the restaurant tomorrow.

 

“It’s all his home recipes, too. Passed down from his grandma,” Goku went on. “You’d like it, I think.” He nudged Krillin. “Give her your business card.”

 

Krillin fumbled with his wallet which had a few copies. His hand was shaking as he tried to hand it to Maron, who was looking amused at the whole scene. Goku easily took the card and handed it to the girl swiftly, to avoid any further awkwardness.

 

“Will _you_ be at the restaurant tomorrow?” one of the more provocatively dressed women in the group asked Goku.

 

“Yeah! If you stop by, I’ll definitely say hi,” Goku said cheerfully, and he observed with interest the girl turn a shade of red.

 

Was the bar that hot? He felt a little chilly himself… probably the alcohol.

 

As they all headed to their separate ways as the night wound down, Goku thought that the city really was agreeing with him.

 

.

.

.

 

 

_Not too far from the bar…_

 

Chi-Chi raised her eyes as she saw her friend change out of her doctor’s scrubs and into a workout tights and a sports bra at the lockers.

 

“Gym? At midnight?”

 

“I’ve got the night rounds for this entire month, so I’m like a vampire. I gotta fit it in somehow,” Bulma explained as she pulled out her workout shoes.

 

“The hospital didn’t build a gym on premises, did they?”

 

“Oh, god, I wish,” Bulma huffed. “No. There’s a 24-hour gym just a block away from here.”

 

“Is that safe?”

 

Downtown West City wasn’t exactly savory in the middle of the night, and especially around the hospital.

 

“It’s a block away, it’s fine. I have my taser with me, too,” Bulma said, brandishing the device in her purse.

 

“Okay, well text me when you get there and when you get home,” Chi-Chi said, frowning.

 

“Yes, _mom_ ,” Bulma drawled her eyes crinkling. “Anyway, this really _is_ the best time. I think I’ll take more of these shifts just to go to the gym at this time… no one bothers me. The gym’s practically empty except for other shift workers like us. Which means _construction workers, firemen_ and _cops!_ ”

 

Bulma wiggled her brows suggestively.

 

Chi-Chi giggled. “You mean The Village People?”  


“Yes, but less gay. Though even if they are, it’s still nice to _look…_ ” Bulma went on with a teasing glint in her eye. She leaned over conspiratorially. “And there’s this _one_ guy that’s always there exactly the same time as me. I’m trying to work on him, but he ignores me.”

 

“Really? A man ignoring the great Bulma Briefs?” Chi-Chi said with amusement and mild disbelief. Men fell over their feet for her gorgeous and accomplished friend.

 

“Yeah I’m not sure if gay or playing hard to get yet,” Bulma mused aloud, tapping her chin. “My gaydar isn’t going off. I don’t get the feeling he’s _attached_ to anyone. But he doesn’t even _look_ at me, and c’mon, who can ignore this?”

 

The accomplished doctor waved at her perfectly toned stomach and massive knockers, causing Chi-Chi to laugh. Nope, her best friend did not lack in the confidence department and for good reason.

 

“Bulma Briefs _always_ gets what she wants.”

 

“He must be a _specimen_ , then,” Chi-Chi drawled and she saw her friend’s eyes light up with delight.

 

“You have _no_ idea, Cheech. I mean, he’s a _little_ short I guess, but otherwise, _real_ hot.”

 

“Short?” Chi-Chi was getting more and more intrigued.

 

“Short for me I guess? He’s 5’9” I think,” the blue-haired woman went on, her expression predatory and gleaming.

 

“You’d almost be the same height.”

 

Bulma angled her a look.

 

“That tone. I forgot you had a tall boy fetish, even though you’re borderline Little People status,” Bulma teased. Chi-Chi rolled her eyes, though couldn’t deny it. She felt incredibly feminine around a much taller man.

 

“Speaking of fetish, you haven’t been with anyone in a while, have you?” Bulma went on. “Or have you been holding out on me?”

 

“Nah, not since…” Chi-Chi trailed off and she was struck with the realization it had been _that long_.

 

“No!” Bulma exclaimed, following her train of thought.

 

“I have a four-year-old,” Chi-Chi said finally.

 

“Oh, my god, I am going to buy you an escort for your 29th if you don’t get your shit together,” Bulma warned as she secured her locker and grabbed her gym bag and purse.

 

Chi-Chi rolled her eyes at Bulma’s dramatic words and shrugged. “I uh, got felt up today by a patient. Does that count?”

 

“Sometimes,” Bulma responded cheekily while shaking her head. She looked outside the hospital entrance and pointed at the oncoming Ford Focus driving up.

 

“That’s my Uber,” Chi-Chi said, and Bulma gave her a thumbs up. “Make sure you text me when you get there and get home!”

 

Bulma flipped her the bird and waved.

 

Chi-Chi chuckled as she greeted her driver and started the journey home.

 

Since the hospital was smack-dab downtown, the driver had to go through the bar district before turning off into the highway. She looked out at the carousing young people and she gave a little sigh. Oh, she used to be so young and carefree once upon a—

 

—no, it couldn’t be.

 

“Stop, stop,” Chi-Chi shrieked, startling the Uber driver.

 

“Lady, we’re about to—”

 

She shook her head and craned her neck.

 

Was she just _seeing_ things?

 

He disappeared behind a corner.

 

And her Uber driver had just exited onto the highway, so there was no way she could have run off to verify.

 

It was just a brief glimpse.

 

A flash of hair, that face…

 

Maybe it was because she was _sorta_ talking about him with Bulma just a moment ago… and she got herself off to his memory the previous night. Maybe it was someone who _looked_ like him…

 

She was seeing things.

 

She _must_ be seeing things.

 

Though, did that make sense?

 

Just because he disappeared from her _life_ didn’t mean he disappeared, _period._ It didn’t even mean he left the city!

 

She could feel the symptoms of a panic attack begin.

 

_Did she just see Kakarrot?_

 

.

.

.


	4. Chapter 4

_Just over five years ago…_

 

Chi-Chi was pacing frantically in her tiny apartment, biting her thumb. She’d done it now. What was _wrong_ with her? She should have called someone at the hospital, should have called the police, should have…should have, should have…

 

No, _instead_ , she bundled her “friend” into a cab and nervously explained that he was just recovering from the hospital and was just out of it. The cabbie, used to doing the rounds by the hospital, had mostly paid her no heed and she somehow managed to drag Kakarrot into her (thankfully) first-floor apartment.

 

She’d stripped him and re-dressed his wounds, which seemed to be doing _okay_ , as far as she could see no infection or angry puss… but they really needed to go back to the hospital to get him treated properly, but he any time he had a burst of coherence he kept mumbling “no cops, no hospital” over and over.

 

Somehow, he’d managed to pass out from all the excitement and she was ready to keel over herself.

  
She was _so_ tired, but adrenaline was pumping through her.

 

Oh, god, what was she going to do?

 

She stopped pacing and sat on her bed, feeling awkward, and she realized how much larger he was, taking up so much space on her queen-sized bed.

 

College was a long time ago, and he looked a little more rough, but damn did he look as handsome as she last saw him…

 

She blushed, mortified.

 

Holy shit, something was wrong with her, she thought.

 

She groaned, dropping her head in her hands.

 

How did she get herself in this?

 

.

.

.

 

“Who the fuck are you?!”

 

Chi-Chi gasped, jerking awake with a start and she found furious dark eyes glaring down at her. But she couldn’t tamp the flush rising up her neck when she realized that she had fallen asleep next to him in exhaustion from the previous night… and he was now looming over her half-naked.

 

Instinctively, she reached over and pressed the dressing on his side. He jerked away from her, hissing in pain. She scrambled away from the bed and grabbed her lamp.

 

“I… I’m… I’m the nurse that saved your life, you asshole!” Chi-Chi exclaimed, waving the lamp threateningly.

 

Kakarrot was still groaning and grabbing his side, the color draining from his face. He swayed as he dabbed himself a little, a spot of red marking his palm. She lowered the lamp when she realized that he couldn’t hurt a fly right now… not in this condition.

 

“You… I…” The words stuck in her throat, and she was completely disoriented from being suddenly awake and the situation in general. She was still unsure how she found herself in this situation.

 

“Why am I …. _here?_ ” Kakarrot bit out.

 

“Y-you… you said last night. N-no cops, n-no hospital so… I brought you home,” Chi-Chi stammered, shaking with shock.

 

“Are you fucking _insane?_ ” he roared, and he winced, as the effort to yell seemed to clench his gut and hurt his insides.

 

“I… I was trying to help,” Chi-Chi broke out. She eyed her smartphone by the side table. He followed her gaze.

 

Within moments, they both leaped toward the phone. For an injured man, he was incredibly fast, and Chi-Chi squeaked in terror as the phone was batted away from her hand and the force of his lunge caused them to both topple over on the ground in a heap.

 

Oh dear god, he was big, he could squish her like a bug!

 

“ _Fuck,”_ he bit out.

 

“Oh god, oh god, please, please don’t kill me,” Chi-Chi babbled, terrified, thinking that this was it. She was going to be murdered in her own home. And it was here own damn fault for being soft hearted and thinking that a grown ass man was like his childhood counterpart.

 

He looked like he was going to yell at her again when his eyes shifted as he raked his gaze over her, focusing on her face.

 

“ _Princess?_ ”

 

“H-hi! It’s me, Chi-Chi!” Chi-Chi said with a watery laugh. “How’s it going?”

 

He scrambled as fast as he could away from her, gritting his teeth in pain as he did so. She saw sweat bead against his forehead as he took a few labored breaths.

 

“What the fuck is going on?” he muttered, rubbing his brow.

 

“I… I don’t know. You showed up during my shift and now you’re here.”

 

“Your shift?”

 

He was blinking heavily now and dammit if Chi-Chi felt her heart lurch in sympathy. He was in a lot of pain, she could tell. He probably needed a Vicodin right about now…

 

“I’m an ER nurse.”

 

He gave a startled laugh. “The Ox King’s daughter is a _nurse_.”

 

“It’s a very fulfilling job,” Chi-Chi said angrily.

 

He simply shook his head, trying to clear it. “Okay, sure.”

 

She took a steadying breath as she saw blood seep from his dressings.

 

“Look. You’re in rough shape. I shouldn’t have brought you here. We need to go back to the ER.”

 

He gave a very definitive shake of his head. “No. _No_ hospitals.”

 

“Well, then… you are probably going to die,” Chi-Chi said stiffly.

 

He angled her a gaze she couldn’t read. “No, I’m not.”

 

“Yeah? You can spontaneously heal? Is your secret identity _Wolverine?_ ” Chi-Chi snapped sarcastically. He glared at her though something she said made him very uncomfortable since he shifted and slowly made his way to his feet.

 

He swayed and Chi-Chi automatically rushed to his side to help him from toppling over.

 

“Because you’re going to help me get better,” he said roughly. “Otherwise my death is on _your_ hands.”

 

“If I call the 911—”

 

“Do you think I was on a nice evening stroll, _princess?_ ” He was practically _spitting_ her stupid nickname at her. “You call 911, I’m dead. If I go to the hospital, I’m dead. If you call the cops, I’m dead.”

 

Chi-Chi began to shake as she helped him back on the bed.

 

“You made your bed taking me in. Now _lie in it_.”

 

“Maybe I’ll let you die,” Chi-Chi said, furiously.

 

“Nah, you have bleeding heart written all over that stupid face of yours,” he went on with a harsh laugh and her face flamed with embarrassment. “You wouldn’t have dragged me all the way to your _apartment_ if you weren’t waist-deep in some fucked up Florence Nightingale fantasy.”

 

Chi-Chi reared back and slapped his face, uncaring that she just struck an injured man.

 

She found her wrist in his tight grip. She was sure she was going to bruise.

 

“Try that again, Florence,” he said quietly. “ _Please_. I dare you.”

 

She tried to wrench her arm away and she found that even though he was half dead, that he was still leaps stronger than she was. She swallowed as fear coursed through her veins.

 

“You’re just like your brother,” Chi-Chi said shakily. “I thought you were different, but you’re like him, too, aren’t you?”

 

He let her wrist go, clearly startled by her statement.

 

She used that as an opportunity to scramble away as fast as possible.

 

“Go fuck yourself,” she spat, then she grabbed her discarded phone on the floor and ran out of the room, grateful that the man was gravely injured and would be unable to catch her.

 

.

.

.

 

She had gone straight to the hospital, grateful she had spare scrubs and underwear there and basically waited around until her shift began.

 

Chi-Chi knew that she probably should have called the police right after she left, but she still felt _bad_ for him… she hoped that maybe he had enough sense to leave and she could put the entire ordeal behind her. She did all she could—he could have been lying dead in the street if he kept trying to wander around downtown West City in the middle of the night.

 

What happened after was none of her business and she hoped her brief brush with insanity was gone.

 

Unfortunately, her luck wasn’t that great.

 

When she came home after a particularly grueling shift, she was unprepared to see his body sprawled on the floor by the bathroom in a heap.

 

Bottles, pills and water were strewn everywhere.

 

She gasped in horror as she rushed to him to check his vitals. Pulse, faint, but still there… but his dressing was a bright red—he’d opened up his wound. She checked around frantically…

 

He must have been in pain, she thought quickly. He probably went to the bathroom to check if she had Tylenol or whatever other painkiller—the only thing she had in her bathroom was Midol for her cramps. The rest of her regular pharmacy stash was in her _kitchen…_

 

_Oh god, this was her fault!_

 

How in the world did she think he could have slunk away by himself?! He’d been _shot_ and he had no meds and…!

 

With strength she didn’t know she had, she quickly gathered his large form and dragged him back as quickly as possible to the bedroom.

 

She would never forgive herself if she let him die in her care.

 

.

.

.

 

Kakarrot was barely conscious but he had to eat.

 

“Sip,” she prodded gently. Delirious, he did as he was told and grimaced immediately.

 

“Yeah, I know, not my best,” she sighed. “I crushed some multivitamins in this thing. Come on. The sooner you eat, the sooner you’re outta here.”

 

“Florence?” he managed.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Told you so,” he said weakly.

 

“Shut up,” she said sharply and stuffed another mouthful of strange-tasting soup into his mouth.

 

.

.

.

 

The next few days turned into a strange sort of rhythm. She worked at the hospital, came home, and then fed Kakarrot as much as she could, cleaned his dressing, and gave him painkillers. The latter made him rather sleepy, which kept him docile and easy to manage, to Chi-Chi’s relief. Though, even on drugs, he kept trying to come up with a million Florence Nightingale barbs.

 

She had no idea there were that many ways to make fun of nurses.

  
And she knew enough asshole surgeons to have heard a few.

 

Though, Chi-Chi had to brace herself as the Vicodin supply was running low and eventually she knew he’d have to taper off of them. Even the best person had withdrawal symptoms and could get cranky as hell… she was _not_ looking forward to that.

 

She wasn’t going to swipe some more or risk getting caught, and besides, he _did_ need to taper off of them eventually.

 

After a couple more days, she realized she couldn’t keep gingerly wiping him down while he was knocked out. The idea of giving him a full blown sponge bath like a normal patient was making her more nervous than it should.

 

So when she came home that night, she bit her thumb, trying to figure out how to bring up the subject of a bath. She could see him growing irritated at her scrutiny.

 

“What?” he barked.

 

She could tell he was in a mood, and that was probably the pain and withdrawal kicking in.

 

“You… need a bath.”

 

He’d been scowling at her since she came home, but now his lips were curling knowingly.

 

“Oh, come on, Florence, what’s the big deal? Nothing you haven’t already seen.”

 

“Okay, maybe if I… help you to the bathtub, and then I’ll just sit outside your door to give you privacy?” Chi-Chi offered primly.

 

“Nah, have a free peep show, I don’t care,” Kakarrot said, his grin now splitting his face.

 

It wasn’t a friendly smile.

 

“You can even touch me,” he went on.

 

“Oh, shut up,” Chi-Chi snapped.

 

“I know you want to,” he said his brows raising in challenge.

 

“You are really full of yourself,” she said.

 

“Would close the circle on this entire Florence Nightingale fantasy of yours, right? Save the poor sap from back home, nurse him back to health, and then what? I fuck your brains out?”

 

Chi-Chi’s jaw went slack at the blatant vulgarity. He began to laugh at the color growing in her face and her hands fisting at her sides.

 

“Ah, Florence, you are hilarious,” he went on. “Women like you are so predictable.”

 

“You don’t know me,” she said coolly.

 

“Don’t I? Daughter of the richest man in Fire Mountain,” he drawled. “You had everything, but you were _bored,_ weren’t you? You took everything you had for granted and now you’re here, slumming with me, because that’s what rich bitches _do_. But that’s okay. I’m game.”

 

“I’m trying to help you,” she said quietly. “That’s all.”

 

“You’re not real,” he said finally, a frown marring the handsome lines of his face.

 

“That makes no sense. Whatever. I’m not going to sleep beside a sweaty, stinky mess tonight,” Chi-Chi said waving her hand.

 

Considering her small apartment and the fact she didn’t want to be kicked off her own bed, they shared the queen-sized mattress the past few nights. It was a little awkward, at least for her, but she figured he was so injured that there was barely anything he could do.

 

And additionally, it was clear he didn’t find her the least attractive. If the guy could grimace more in disgust each she came in from a shift, she was sure his face would cave into itself.

 

He also seemed really resentful that she was helping him, and she had no idea why. What other choice did he have?

 

“Come on, get up and let me help you,” Chi-Chi said with only a hint of impatience.

 

He looked like he was ready to protest, but maybe because he realized it _had_ been a few days since he had a decent bath, so he gingerly swung his legs over the bed and slowly made his way toward her. He was walking pretty normally now, just slowly.

 

She automatically went to his side and went under his arm, though he wasn’t leaning on her as heavily as before when he needed help to the bathroom.

 

He _was_ getting better.

 

It was still going to be a while before he was in any shape that one could call normal. But, that meant he could leave soon.

 

She was quiet as she turned on the bath in her tub and began to fill it with warm water, testing the temperature. She turned to him, as he leaned against the wall watching her prep.

 

“Take off your clothes,” she said stiffly.

 

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled, pulling his shirt off in one smooth movement.

 

She kept her face impassive but was unable to stop the rising blush in her cheeks. When he reached down to pull his pants down, she turned her head and looked away.

 

He had _no_ sense of modesty.

 

None.

 

“Do you need help getting into the tub?” she asked, her head still turned. She reached her arm out as offering but kept her head still pointed at anything but him.

 

She squeaked when he tugged her arm toward him, and she stumbled slightly against him.

 

“What kind of support is that? You’re like a noodle,” he said. She braced herself, annoyed, as he slowly got into the tub with her holding his hand.

 

She blinked rapidly as she got an eyeful, clearing her throat in embarrassment. So, he was big _all over…_

 

He was all out laughing now.

 

“Okay? You all right now?” she said, her voice tense and high pitched.

 

“Are you sure you don’t want to wipe me down?” he went on, deliberately spreading his long limbs.

 

“It looks like you can handle yourself,” she said tightly.

 

“Offer expires in five minutes,” he said, looking pretty comfortable flashing her completely. He had absolutely no concept of modesty.

 

“Good bye,” she said firmly and practically flew out of the bathroom.

.

.

.


	5. Chapter 5

_At Kame House…_

 

Goku had settled in to a nice routine at Kame House these past few weeks. They usually had him do all the prep work in the morning, especially due to his incredible knife skills and his speed breaking down fishes and meats. They had him working hard throughout the afternoon.

 

But once the dinner rush started, Krillin insisted Goku act as front-of-house and waiter —something about him being a good face to greet at the entrance during their busy time.

 

Indeed, Goku enjoyed the variety of work that allowed him to work with his hands during the day _and_ be technically paid to socialize at night based on how he led people to their table and waitered. He was able to balance a lot of dishes and trays in his arms with ease, almost turning it into a tiny acrobatic show for the patrons, which allowed more food to be pushed out and people seated faster.

 

To be honest, the people side of it was really fun. Why did the islanders ever say city folk were closed off? He found it easy to get them to tell them of their day.

 

One evening, he even ended up semi-babysitting a patron’s child, who had been inconsolable all evening… it had been bothering patrons, but more importantly, Goku noticed that the poor mother looked embarrassed, frazzled and overwhelmed and had not eaten one bit of her food. So naturally, he came by and offered to take the child off her hands for a bit so she could eat in peace, explaining how he loved kids and took care of a lot of them “back home” on the island.

 

The woman had been skeptical at first, but eventually, Goku found himself with a baby on his hip, while he bounced around taking people’s orders.

 

Women, in particular, seemed rather entranced by the sight.

 

Babies were adorable.

 

As the evening wound down, Krillin marveled at Goku’s people skills.

 

“You are _so_ good with people. Even _babies,_ ” his short boss said, taking off his signature red bandana to wipe his buzz-cut bald head. He wiped the sweat of his brow and looked at satisfaction as the final customers were closing out their bills at the end of the evening.

 

“Yeah because babies and I are a lot alike. I just want to eat and sleep all day,” Goku said cheerfully.

 

Yajirobe made a honking movement with his hands. “I’m like a baby, too.”

 

Krillin rolled his eyes at Yajirobe’s suggestiveness and as he wiped down a table, looked at Goku doing the same on another top.

 

“You have kids, Goku?” Krillin asked.

 

“Me? Nah,” Goku said. “Maybe some day, though.”

 

It would be nice to give someone else what Grampy gave to him. It would be the greatest honor.

 

“Do you have a girl? You never seem to...” Krillin trailed off and shrugged. Goku looked at him, confused.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to get so personal,” Krillin said, moving onto the next table to wipe.

 

“No, that’s okay,” Goku said. “I don’t know what you mean about having a girl?”

 

“Like a girlfriend.”

 

Goku shrugged. “Nah.”

 

The concept sounded strange and foreign to him. Objectively, he understood it, but he never craved companionship that way himself. His friends and adoptive family were enough. Women didn’t make him feel like he _needed_ anything more than friendship with them.

 

“Surprised a guy like you wouldn’t have twenty,” Yajirobe piped up as he started tuning the chairs upside down on the tables that were clean.

 

“Yeah, not interested,” Goku said evenly.

 

Krillin and Yajirobe exchanged glances.

 

“Oh, uh… swinging for the other team?” Yajirobe piped up, and Krillin elbowed him.

 

“That’s none of our—” Krillin began.

 

“What do you mean?” Goku broke in. Was this some sort of city slang? Krillin and Yajirobe exchanged glances again, looking a little baffled now.

 

“Serious?” Krillin said.

 

Goku rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry, I’m not from here. Is that something people here say? What’s swinging for the other team?”

 

“We’re asking if you’re gay,” Yajirobe asked bluntly. “Nothing wrong with it, just curious. But would explain a little—”

 

“Jesus, Yaji,” Krillin hissed. “Shut up.”

 

“I’m happy,” Goku said, though he still wasn’t sure how swinging and teams had anything to do with mood.

 

Yajirobe broke out into startled laughter. “Oh my god, are you for real?”

 

Krillin kicked his employee in the shin. “He’s from _the island_. That might not be something they talk about.”

 

“Do you have _sex_ with other _men?_ ” Yajirobe clarified, still chortling and ignoring Krillin’s kicks.

 

Goku’s eyes widened.

 

Wow, city folk were _really_ frank!

 

He wasn’t sure how to respond. Grampy always told him sex was something special and sacred between two people that should be shared privately. There were men in the island that spoke openly about sex, but since most of them were seniors and married, it seemed different. Here, most everyone was unattached and young. The Kame House crew felt open to talk about it publicly—or at least as publicly amongst friends.

 

Goku didn’t want to feel like the odd man out. He was an outsider enough already and the Kame House Restaurant crew _were_ his friends.

 

“I don’t have sex,” Goku said finally.

 

This time, Goku saw Mai and Launch both turn from the entrance in shock.

 

Krillin himself looked ready to fall over.

 

“With men _or_ women?” Krillin was the one who gasped and looked rather embarrassed that he even spoke up.

 

“Is that… weird?” Goku asked hesitantly.

 

“Are you a monk?” Yajirobe asked. “Krillin pretends he’s a devout Buddhist but—”

 

This time, Launch stepped in and smacked both Krillin and Yajirobe at the back of their heads.

 

“You jerks leave Goku the fuck alone,” the blonde growled. “He’s a nice guy. Leave him be. Just because he has a dick doesn’t mean this isn’t sexual harassment!”

 

“And _that_ counts as assault, jeez!” Yajirobe grumbled then cowered when Launch lifted her palm in warning.

 

Goku waved his hands. He really had no idea what Launch was talking about, but she seemed defensive on his behalf. “Oh, Launch, it’s okay. They’re just curious.”

 

“Wow, what a total and utter _waste_ ,” Yajirobe breathed, his eyes bugging out.

 

“Let’s _all_ stop talking about Goku’s sex life,” Krillin said, red faced.

 

Goku shifted on his feet, uncomfortable.

 

Launch shook her head and patted Goku comfortingly as he stared at them all, confused.

 

“Just ignore them,” the waitress said.

 

Goku wondered what the big deal was.

 

As the rest of the staff left and Goku was left finishing the last of cleanup with Krillin, the shorter man gave him an apologetic look.

 

“Seriously, sorry if we made you uncomfortable this evening,” Krillin said. “Yajirobe sometimes gets out of hand, but he’s not a bad guy.”

 

Goku shrugged easily. He felt absolutely no ill will. “It’s fine. I think sometimes I forget how different the city is from the island. People don’t talk about stuff like that really.”

 

“All right, well, I’ll see you around then?”

 

At Goku’s nod, Krillin as was about to leave when he saw Goku simply walking down the block.

 

“Hey, hey, you _walk_ home at this hour?” Krillin called, jogging after him.

 

“Yeah, why?”

 

Krillin looked at him, worried. “You should have told me. It’s not a big deal to drop you off after work when it’s this late. Just ask.”

 

Goku wasn’t sure why Krillin seemed so concerned. He’d been walking home without issue for the past month or so. But, his boss seemed insistent to follow him back to his car for a ride home. Not wanting to be rude since Krillin seemed so insistent, Goku agreed.

 

Krillin seemed even more concerned when Goku told him his address.

 

“Oh, that’s a rough part of town,” Krillin said.

 

“It’s what I can afford,” Goku said with a shrug. Krillin angled him a glance.

 

“I could always use a roommate,” he said slowly.

 

Goku’s brows raised, surprised. “Oh! Seriously?”

 

“Yeah my place is downtown, easy to get to the restaurant. I have a spare bedroom. Why not?” Krillin said with a smile.

 

“I’m paid through until the end of this month here, but I’d love to take a look if you really don’t mind?”

 

“Tomorrow after work I can show you around my place and we talk about rent and stuff then?” Krillin said.

 

Goku nodded happily. While he was fine with his current apartment, it _would_ be nice to sleep in a place where the lock didn’t stick and the neighbors weren’t so mean. Also, even though it was only four weeks, he still wasn’t used to living on his own — he always had Grampy and the islanders around him.

 

It would be nice to have someone else to live with.

 

.

.

.

 

_At Wukong Hospital…_

 

“So what’re we doing to kick off the last year of your twenties?”

 

Lazuli Gero blew at the mug she just poured fresh coffee in.

 

Chi-Chi shrugged as she sipped her own coffee at the nurse’s lounge.

 

“I don’t know, probably nothing. I don’t want to talk about it,” Chi-Chi said, shaking her head at her beautiful, blonde friend.

 

“Right, because you’re near death turning 29,” Lazuli’s voice was flat and even. “Briefs told me that she was going to get you an escort or stripper. Maybe both?”

 

“You know what, maybe I should let her,” Chi-Chi said finally, frustrated.

 

She was still embarrassed at herself at her little panic attack four weeks ago. She’d texted Bulma frantically and was near-hyperventilating about seeing a Kakarrot look-a-like. She remembered calling after Bulma hadn’t responded immediately, babbling, “What does it mean? What should I do? What if he finds out about Gohan?” like a complete psychotic.

 

Bulma had listened to her ranting and told her simply, “You need to get laid.”

 

Then the doctor had hung up on her.

 

_Ugh, Bulma was right._

 

“Preferences?” Lazuli asked in the same tone, lifting a brow.

 

“Tall. Dark hair. Built.”

 

“Okay, noted,” Lazuli said, amusement now tingeing her tone.

 

“I don’t care, whatever, _do it._ As long as he’s Magic Mike calibre. It’ll be the most action I’ve gotten in a while,” Chi-Chi said glumly. “Unless you count that old perv Mr. Roshi grabbing my ass.”

 

“I swear to god he’s faking his dementia,” Lazuli drawled. “Just so he could cop a feel. He pinched my butt today, too.”

 

“Why does he always end up in emergency?”

 

“He runs away from palliative care and then one of the nurses or doctors find him wandering around and don’t know who he is, so they send him to us at the ER.”

 

Chi-Chi nodded and thought it was sad. Despite the perverted nature of the man, he was old and dying.

 

The life of a nurse.

 

.

.

.

 


	6. Chapter 6

_Five or so years ago…_

 

She came home and quietly noted that Kakarrot had made himself a small sandwich from her fridge. Good. He was able to wander around now and eat solids. He made a mess on her bed even though he brought a plate, but at least this meant his time with her was coming to an end…

 

“Wow, you look like shit,” he remarked as she shuffled tiredly toward her dresser, to go through her normal routine of washing up before bed.

 

She turned her head toward him, shrugging listlessly.

 

“What’s wrong with you?” he said finally, clearly disturbed at her behavior.

 

She knew he was expecting their regular thrust-and-parry routine of insults and jokes, but she didn’t have the energy to deal with him tonight.

 

She had a child die in her arms that evening. No matter what she and the rest of the team did… It was just the reality of her work. They lost people every day.

 

Still, it was always hard.

 

So she remained silent as she readied herself for bed and buried herself under her covers.

 

“Are you all right?” he asked after a few moments.

 

She shook her head and to her horror, tears began to leak from her eyes.

 

“Fuck.”

 

Like a dam bursting, Chi-Chi found herself crying into her pillow, whole body-shaking sobs, as she recalled the desperation she and her team had, trying to revive the child. It was an accident, falling into that pool, only a few minutes… she could still see the girl’s blue eyes cloud over with death, staring sightlessly onto the ceiling.

 

She had kept it together then. She was a professional. But in the privacy of her own home? She didn’t care that Kakarrot was seeing all of this.

 

She just didn’t care about anything right now.

 

“Hey, hey, hey,” he protested, and she felt him rub her arm awkwardly, in an attempt to comfort. “What the hell… what’s up with you…?”

 

She shook her head, still crying, unable to speak.

 

He pushed her gently onto her back and swiped her bangs aside. She covered her face in shame, but he pulled her fingers down.

 

“Hey, none of that. What’s wrong?”

 

He cupped her face and wiped her wet cheeks with his thumb, then brushed her bangs again. He was looking down at her with such concern and tenderness that a new fresh set of tears bubbled up to the surface.

 

Her face crumpled and she saw him grimace, impatience entering his eyes.

 

“Enough!”

 

Without warning, he swooped down, stunning her to silence as he captured her lips with his own.

 

It was brief, just a firm connection of lips, almost impersonal… but it was enough for her breath to catch, the sob dying in her throat as shock took over her sorrow.

 

“Okay?” he murmured finally.

 

She found her gaze dropping to the full shape of his lips and back up to his eyes in silent question. She had no idea how long they simply stared at each other in this position, and she wasn’t sure who moved first…

 

… but suddenly, she was crushed against him. She made a strangled sound at the back of her throat, caught between a gasp and a moan, as his tongue plunged into her mouth and dragged against hers. Chi-Chi found her fingers diving into his hair as she urged him closer, though their lips were already desperately clashing.

 

He reached out to grab her thigh to position her more comfortably, but he drew back almost immediately, hissing and cursing in pain.

 

“O-oh, I’m sorry,” she stammered, flushing, immediately trying to check his injury. He hadn’t bled much in a while, so he was definitely healing, but it would take a while before he could move without much pain.

 

“Dammit,” he breathed, his lips pressing together in agitation.

 

“Do you need a painkiller?” Chi-Chi asked worriedly, swiping her wet cheeks.

 

This evening just took the cake.

 

“I was hoping for a more _natural_ high,” he drawled.

 

She gave him a nervous laugh.

 

“Yeah, I don’t think you’re ready for any of that,” she got out, her cheeks warming.

 

“You could always, you know...” He nodded to his groin, and made a hand gesture.

 

“Yeah, no,” Chi-Chi said, scrambling away from the bed. “I’m going to get you some ibuprofen.”

 

“You’re no fun, Florence,” he called as she stumbled out of the room.

 

.

.

.

 

She ended up getting him that ibuprofen but it was incredibly awkward to get under the covers after… whatever that was. She was a mess of confusion and emotions. She couldn’t deny how attracted she was to him, but he had given no indication that he returned even an iota of that… had he simply gotten carried away?

 

They both long since turned their side lamps off, but Chi-Chi was still wide-awake, clutching the blankets a little more tightly than normal.

 

“Can you relax, please? I’m not going to molest you.”

 

Chi-Chi buried herself deeper into the pillow in response.

 

“What was all that blubbering about anyway?” he went on.

 

Chi-Chi ground out a sigh. Clearly he wasn’t getting the hint to ignore everything or he was purposely being a brat and was probably going to bug her he like normally did.

 

“I answered a code blue. A resuscitation emergency,” she said clarified, tiredly. “Kid fell in their parent’s pool… she must’ve been four… She was still alive when she got to ER.”

 

Chi-Chi took a deep breath and was annoyed that a fresh set of tears seemed to be ready again as she explained. “She didn’t leave the ER alive.”

 

“Shit. Sorry,” Kakarrot said into the darkness.

 

“It happens, it’s an occupational hazard,” Chi-Chi said, repeating the entire staff’s mantra. She knew it was true, but her heart still needed catching up… She wiped a couple of stray tears off her cheeks. “Sometimes it gets to me. Especially when it’s a child.”

 

He was silent for a few beats before he said, “You probably see even more death than I do.”

 

Chi-Chi swallowed at the matter-of-fact statement, the casually thrown threat of violence. She shivered.

 

“The difference being is you try to prevent it from happening.”

 

He was more or less stating out loud her worst fear about the type of thing he was involved in. This entire time he was with her, he never spoke about his wounds, how he got them… and neither did Chi-Chi feel compelled to ask.

 

He chuckled, but it was a dark sound.

 

She felt him shift gingerly to his side and she could tell he was facing her back now.

 

“Sorry you had a bad night,” he said, and she was shocked to have him briefly reach out and squeeze her shoulder. “You tried your best. And look… as much as I give you a hard time, I owe you my life, so there’s that.”

 

Her eyes widened, as he gave her shoulder a final squeeze before drawing back.

 

That was the first indication of genuine gratefulness from him during this entire ordeal.

 

She didn’t turn or say anything to acknowledge him, but she smiled for the first time since returning from her shift at the hospital.

 

.

.

.

 

Chi-Chi now felt incredibly awkward around Kakarrot. Not that she ever felt _comfortable_ in the least, but she was at least able to sleep beside him without worry.

 

But now he was getting better, bit by bit. That, added to the memory of that searing kiss a few days previous, was adding to her already frayed nerves.

 

He hadn’t tried to kiss her again, or even touch her as the days passed. Chi-Chi was annoyed that she kept wondering if he would, and worst of all, unsure if she would stop or encourage him.

 

Working her regular shifts and then coming home to Kakarrot and helping him mend was taking a toll, on top of the emotional rollercoaster of having him around in the first place. By the end of the week, Chi-Chi was looking forward to her day off.

 

So she was thrilled to not have her alarm on so she could sleep in. It would be the first time in a _long_ while and she was going to enjoy it—

 

“Don’t you have to go to work soon?”

 

She swallowed a scream. Right. She had a bed mate.

 

“No, go away,” she muttered and buried her face deeper in the pillow.

 

“But you usually make breakfast for us.”

 

He actually sounded whiny.

 

“This is my day off, go make your own breakfast.”

 

“But I like your protein pancakes.”

 

“Make your own.”

 

“I don’t know how.”

 

“I’m going to punch you in the face if you don’t stop talking,” Chi-Chi growled.

 

“I’d like to see you try,” he rejoined and then actually poked her in the back.

 

She whipped her arm around and aimed for his lap.

 

He moved and cursed.

 

“That’s not my face.”

 

“Oh, sorry,” Chi-Chi said, looking up at him with bleary eyes and a fake sweet smile.

 

He poked her boob.

 

Chi-Chi shrieked and slapped his hand away as he laughed.

 

“Jerk!” she shouted and tried to punch his groin again, determined not to miss.

 

Unfortunately, he moved too quickly and she hit empty mattress. With a guttural cry, she launched herself at him and he cried out in surprise, clearly not expecting her to attack him in such a full-bodied manner.

 

She managed a hit to his chest, before he wrangled her limbs and pinned her beneath him.

 

 _Ugh!_ He was _definitely_ much better. He didn’t seem to have any issue or pain squishing her beneath his solid weight.

 

“You are _such_ an asshole!” Chi-Chi exclaimed furious, as he laughed down at her futile movements. She wriggled and tried to escape. “You’re too freaking heavy! Get off me!”

 

She continued to buck under him but stilled as she felt something against her pelvis…

 

“Hm,” Kakarrot said with a twist of his lips, looking amused as heat suffused her face. “Why’d you stop? Keep wriggling. Felt nice.”

 

“You… you are a pervert,” Chi-Chi said, her pulse hammering against her throat.

 

“I’m a _man_ ,” Kakarrot said, his tone wry, but his eyes were raking over her face in a way that felt dangerous.

 

“A-are you going to get off me or what?” Chi-Chi stammered.

 

“Let’s start the day off right,” Kakarrot said, his hand moving down her side.

 

Chi-Chi’s lips parted in shock.

 

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” he went on with a wink and rolled away.

 

Chi-Chi growled. “Go make your own—”

 

He turned and looked ready to roll back on her, so she scrambled from the bed, red faced and confused.

 

“Y-you’re a jerk,” Chi-Chi said, rubbing her eyes as she stomped toward the kitchen.

 

.

.

.

 

He seemed pretty pleased with himself, Chi-Chi thought sourly as she nursed her freshly made green juice. He was happily munching on a giant stack of protein pancakes and peanut butter with his own giant glass of green juice.

 

He was spoiled, Chi-Chi thought with a slight grimace.

 

She was definitely going to need an afternoon nap…

 

Normally she’d be out the door by now, but since this was her day off, she was keeping him company in her small little dining room.

 

“So, how are your parents?” Chi-Chi asked idly.

 

At that, the smile was wiped away from his face. “Why?”

 

She blinked at him, startled. What a mood change! “Um, just curious? I went to your mom’s deli every time I visited Papa back home when I was in college. She made a mean roast beef, you know. I haven’t been there for a while…”

 

“She’s dead,” he said flatly, shoving a mouthful of pancake in his mouth.

 

She gasped, shocked, and automatically reached out to place her palm over his.

 

“I’m so sorry. What happened?”

 

He jerked his hand away from hers.

 

“Why do you care?”

 

Chi-Chi blinked. Back to square one, Chi-Chi thought.

 

She tilted her head, hoping he could see that she was sad for him and sympathetic.

 

“ _My_ mom died in a car accident when I was around ten,” Chi-Chi said quietly.

 

Her statement had Kakarrot lower his fork and stare at her silently.

 

“Drunk driver,” she said, with a shrug that was more casual than she felt. “I miss her every day.”

 

Kakarrot worked his jaw and there was nothing but heavy silence in her kitchen until finally:

 

“Cancer.”

 

Chi-Chi nodded, her heart squeezing in pain for him. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

 

“Are you?” he said, his voice dry, but there was a hint of something deeper there.

 

“Yeah, I am. It’s hard to lose a mom. I remember yours being very kind. Did you know she called me Polly Pocket? Because I’m so small. And _then_ she started calling me Polly or Princess Polly. I think this nickname thing is hereditary,” she said wryly.

 

Kakarrot’s lips twitched and she was pleased to see genuine amusement and affection in his eyes.

 

“Yeah, that’s something Ma would say.”

 

Chi-Chi shifted in her seat, wondering if she should bring up the question that was plaguing her for a while. Gine Korzen had been a lovely woman, and it was hard to fathom that she would raise _two_ delinquents. And Kakarrot seemed to have been on the right path back in college…

 

“What happened between college and now?” Chi-Chi said, finally.

 

Kakarrot looked at her confused as he took a swig of his green juice. “What’re you talking about?”

 

“As far as I could tell, you were doing fine in school. You make fun of me for being a girl scout or whatever, but I remember you donated blood every other week at the bank… and you _hated_ needles!”

 

Kakarrot stared at her like she’d grown another head.

 

“How the fuck would you know all that?”

 

Chi-Chi’s expression turned wry. “Wow, way to make a girl feel unforgettable.”

 

“What the hell are you talking about?”

 

“We went to the same campus, dummy,” Chi-Chi pointed out with a laugh.

 

He gaped at her, clearly startled, his eyes racing across her features, like he was trying to figure out where to place her.

 

Kakarrot looked genuinely at a loss. “I think I’d recognize the princess of Fire Mountain in college.”

 

“Yeah, well, I had braces at the time and was carrying the Freshman 15. Nothing like having a job on your feet and only one or two meals a day to get things back on track,” Chi-Chi chuckled, propping her chin with her fist.

 

Kakarrot’s brows furrowed and Chi-Chi found it adorable. He looked so confused, almost dazed at all this information. “I still think I would have recognized you.”

 

“Apparently not. I was a volunteer nurse at the blood bank on campus. And I also did some sports medicine rounds. You volunteered to be a lab rat for a few studies.”

 

She remembered _those_ moments very clearly. Studies that tested lung capacity and cardio meant that Kakarrot would show up in nothing but in running shoes and tight shorts that left nothing to the imagination. She remembered giggling with the other girls at the time that they couldn’t believe that they were being paid a stipend to watch a specimen like himself jog and sprint at different intervals.

 

“But we met before then, too, you know,” Chi-Chi added. “As kids. But clearly, I am the least memorable girl in the world.”

 

Kakarrot’s brows drew together in confusion. “I don’t…”

 

“We played at Kintoun Park. I used to wear this stupid blue cape and pink helmet?”

 

Kakarrot’s jaw went slack as a spark of recognition dawned. “I thought you were developmentally disabled and that was why you wore a helmet!”

 

Chi-Chi’s face flamed. “I was just an adventurous child who liked to play dress up, okay?!”

 

Kakarrot burst out laughing, a happy, genuine sound, so different from all the sarcasm from the past few days that Chi-Chi felt herself begin to chuckle at the ridiculousness of it all… and soon she was wiping tears from her eyes in mirth.

 

Kakarrot’s hand went to his mouth, his eyes crinkling. “Oh man. I _do_ remember. Didn’t you ask me to marry you at one point?”

 

Chi-Chi’s cheeks darkened in mortification at what he’d remembered. Of _all_ things!

 

“I was _six_.”

 

“Oh my god, this is amazing,” Kakarrot said with a sigh, ruffling his hair. “The ‘special girl’ from the playground was the princess of Fire Mountain.”

 

“Yeah, so, I remember that kid, that guy,” Chi-Chi said softly. “The _good_ guy. What happened?”

 

Kakarrot’s mirth slowly drained from his face, and his eyes shifted.

 

“Is that why you’re doing this… all this? You still see me as that guy?”

 

“You _are_ that guy,” Chi-Chi said.

 

Kakarrot laughed again, but it was definitely not the same happy one from before.

 

“No, Florence,” he said shortly. “I’m not that guy. That guy died.”

 

Chi-Chi’s lips dipped. “What happened?”

 

“What kind of la la land do you live in? Life doesn’t always work out, and we’re not having a fucking ‘moment’ or whatever you think this is. My name’s not Darcy, and there’s not going to be some _big reveal_ where I’m a ‘good guy’ after all, all right?”

 

He swiped his arm and violently shoved his plate, glass, and breakfast onto the floor. The sound of all of it shattering and splattering against the ground caused Chi-Chi to jump in her chair in shock. She stared at him, stricken as he got up and kicked his chair down as well.

 

She stared at the mess on her kitchen with a mix of anger and sadness.

 

Chi-Chi had reached her limit. She couldn’t tolerate this.

 

After she cleaned up the mess, she calmly went back to the bedroom where he was staring out the window.

 

“You need to go,” she said evenly. “You’re clearly well enough.”

 

He angled his head and looked at her blankly. She tried to tamp down the unease in her heart.

 

“Where’re my things?”

 

“Your wallet’s in the side table drawer and the clothes you came in with are folded in the closet. You can keep the clothes I got for you, of course,” she said tonelessly. “You know where your phone is.”

 

“Fine,” he said.

 

She watched him dress impassively, like she had helped him do for the past few weeks, and gather his things. She crossed her arms and struggled to keep her face straight as all his meager belongings were gathered.

 

“I wish I could say this was a pleasure,” Chi-Chi said when he brushed past her.

 

“Don’t miss me too much, Florence,” was his parting shot, before he slammed the door behind him, and he was gone.

 

Good riddance, Chi-Chi thought.

 

Then promptly burst into tears.

 

.

.

.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wh-what? Plot? ;-) Thanks for following on this journey so far...! <3 your comments and kudos.

Goku marveled at Krillin’s apartment. It was _huge!_ It had its own _laundry_ room and the kitchen was enormous! Krillin seemed a little embarrassed as he showed him around, and he didn’t understand why. The place was like a palace to Goku — definitely better than his current digs, and even the humble home he had with Grampy.

 

And the spare room might as well have been a cavern, it was huge. He had no idea beds could even get that big. Something about it being a “Queen size”? Amazing!

 

“Yeah, would this work?” Krillin asked.

 

“Wow, I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if I can afford to live with—”

 

“Whatever you’re paying right now at the other place is fine,” Krillin said quickly, with a hand wave.

 

“Are you _sure?_ ” Goku couldn’t believe his ears.

 

Krillin sighed and angled him a gaze.

 

“I consider myself a good judge of character,” Krillin said finally. “And I think you’re a good guy.”

 

Goku raised his brows. “Oh. Thanks? I hope so?”

 

“But I’m not stupid,” he said gently, and Goku was immediately confused. Where was this heading? He wasn’t sure so he simply stared at Krillin expectantly, waiting him to finish his thought.

 

“Goku, I’m an ex-con, too,” Krillin said, shocking Goku. That sweet, lovable boss of his was a _former criminal?_ It was hard to parse!

 

It took him a full second to realize that Krillin thought _he,_ _too,_ was…

 

“Oh, Krill—”

 

“There’s no point in denying it,” Krillin said with a raise of hand. “The cash payments. The weird back story… just weird everything, actually.”

 

Goku ran his hand through his hair. “Oh.”

 

Krilling went on: “But I get it. People judge you based on a few mistakes. But if you’re really serious about going straight, I’ll help you. The same way people helped me. And now I have Kame House and that was because people believed in me. And I’ll always be grateful… and I think you’re the kind of guy who’s _really_ _ready_ to be a useful part of society.”

 

Goku’s eyes widened.

 

Wow.

 

He hadn’t expected that from Krillin, and frankly, he was touched that Krillin trusted him so much. He hoped he could live up to his expectations. Goku felt uneasy not telling him the whole truth. They’d worked together almost every day for an entire month, and now it looked like they were going to live together.

 

They might as well start off with an honest, clean slate.

 

Goku looked at him silently, considering. “Can I trust you?”

 

Krillin stuck his hand out and Goku took it and shook it.

 

They nodded at each other briefly and the circle of trust was complete.

 

“I don’t know who I am,” Goku blurted out. Krillin stared at him for several beats.

 

“You mean you’re trying to _find_ yourself?”

 

“No, I mean, yes… not the way you’re thinking,” Goku said dryly. “I got hurt, a few years back and I lost my memories.”

 

Krillin’s eyes were doing the bug-eyed thing again. “What?! You’re… an amnesiac?”

 

Goku nodded, relieved Krillin understood. “Yep.”

 

“You’re not shitting me?”

 

“Nope.”

 

Krillin scratched his prickly bald head.

 

“Wow.”

 

“Yep.” Goku was now laughing at their one-word conversation.

 

“So who’s… ‘Goku’?”

 

Goku smiled at the memories of Grampy, but it was tinged with a hint of pain. He still missed the old man. He told Krillin about the island, how he got there, then Grampy and how he named him.

 

“Well shit,” Krillin said, awed. “Don’t know what to say.”

 

Goku shrugged with a smile. “Me neither, to be honest. It’s wild, right?”

 

“… I think we should go for a drink,” Krillin said finally.

 

“Sounds great to me!” Goku said.

 

Goku whistled happily behind Krillin, not catching the worried look on the smaller man’s face as they headed to a nearby bar.

 

.

.

.

 

_At Wukong Hospital…_

 

Leena, one of the other shift nurses on break, was pointing at the communal flat screen TV as the eleven o’clock news ticked along. Chi-Chi watched curiously as the news showed some shaky footage of a fire at an apartment building not too far from the hospital.

 

“Is this live?” Lazuli asked curiously, as Leena nodded.

 

“Oh no, I hope everyone’s okay,” Chi-Chi said with a worried frown.

 

“Brace yourself, we’re going to get a rush soon,” Leena said with a sigh. “After this break, we should warn the burn unit.”

 

“These older buildings are such death traps,” Chi-Chi frowned. “Though it seems a little suspicious, no?”

 

Leena turned to Chi-Chi. “What do you mean?”

 

“Is that the block where there was that huge property dispute a month or so ago? There was a big protest about lower income housing and it blocked traffic… I was fifteen minutes late for my shift because of it. I think Frieza Industries wanted to buy the block out and raze it for new condos,” Chi-Chi said.

 

“I bet it’s arson,” Lazuli said flatly, her voice dripping with disgust. “It’s an open secret that Frieza’s a fucking gangster.”

 

“Those poor people, those poor families,” Chi-Chi said mournfully, her heart twinging. “All they wanted was a place to live. Everyone deserves a home.”

 

“I don’t understand how Kold isn’t arrested yet,” Leena huffed, crossing her arms. Chi-Chi wondered herself how Frieza Kold could just wander around aimlessly, flash his money and power around, while everyone knew he was bad news.

 

“Money, corruption,” Chi-Chi sniffed. “Someone’s being paid off. Not enough proof. These types of cases take time to build. Besides, a guy like him never does his own dirty work. I mean, didn’t it take tax evasion to bring Al Capone down?”

 

The intercom interrupted their discussion, blaring the code indicating oncoming fire victims. Clearly, the EMTs on site were signaling what was on TV to their hospital.

 

Chi-Chi lowered her coffee mug and clapped her hands. “All right, gang, let’s move!”

 

The women were too busy shuffling back to their floor to notice Jimmy Firecracker, of ZTV news, shove a microphone under a soot-covered man holding a child beside a shorter man holding a wriggling dog.

 

“ _My baby, my baby!”_

 

“ _Here you go, ma’am!”_

 

“ _Jimmy Firecracker, ZTV News! What’s your name? Who is our civilian hero?”_

 

“ _Huh? Me? My name is Goku.”_

 

.

.

.

 

What a wild night, Goku thought, as he was handed a thermos of water, while he dangled at the edge of an ambulance with Krillin.

 

He was at the bar parking lot with Krillin to head home when he’d seen a suspicious trail of smoke from a block away. He’d convinced Krillin to come follow him reluctantly, and when he saw the blaze coming from a window and the woman screaming for her child outside, he hadn’t hesitated.

 

He sort of felt bad for being impulsive — not necessarily because he didn’t want to try to save the girl, but he seemed to have a habit of accidentally dragging Krillin along. It was one thing to risk himself, but Krillin seemed to follow him headlong into danger.

 

After a few puffs of oxygen and a wipe down, Goku felt right as rain, while Krillin still seemed to be shaking like a leaf beside him.

 

“Hey, you… all right?” Goku asked gingerly.

 

“We… we almost died,” Krillin stammered.

 

“But we didn’t,” Goku said with a wide grin, then clapped Krillin in the back. “You were amazing, man.”

 

“Huh? What?” Krillin stared at him wide-eyed.

 

“High five!” Goku said shaking his palm. Krillin slapped his hand in disbelief.

 

“Were you a fire fighter in your other life?”

 

Goku tapped his chin, thoughtfully. “Huh. _Maybe_.”

 

“Could explain how you look, and uh, and how strong… and the running straight into danger thing…” Krillin suggested.

 

A man cleared his throat beside him. It was that Jimmy Fireworks or whatever guy from TV.

 

“Excuse me, can you both write your names and occupations down so we have the spelling correct for the Morning News tomorrow?”

 

Krillin took the notepad and printed his name and “Owner, Kame House Restaurant” and handed the pen and pad to Goku.

 

“What’s my title?” Goku asked, scratching his head.

 

“Eh… line cook-slash-waiter?”

 

Goku wrote it down and handed it back to Jimmy who nodded enthusiastically.

 

“Perfect. This is going to be such a great B-reel. Feel good story for the masses to start their day off right. We’ll be sure to plug your restaurant, Mr. Seng,” Jimmy said generously to Krillin who just realized that this was a great marketing opportunity. “And Mr. Son. A civilian dynamic duo!”

 

Krillin laughed dryly. “The Batman and Robin of West City.”

 

“That’s perfect,” Jimmy gasped.

 

Goku scratched his head. “Eh?”

 

“You don’t know who Batman and Robin are?” Krillin asked, dumbfounded.

 

“Are they famous?” Goku asked innocently.

 

Krillin smacked his forehead and smiled. “Goku, never change.”

 

.

.

.

 

“What the fuck! Is that who I think it is?”

 

“Did your sources not say he was dead?”

 

“Why is he showing his _dumb f_ _ace_ on TV?”

 

“… he’s trying to send a message. To us.”

 

“You think?”

 

“Maybe. What do you think we do, sergeant?”

 

“Figure out what the fuck he wants.”

 

.

.

.

 

Bulma was purposely doing olympic squats at one of the squat racks, hoping that he would notice how pert her ass was as she went up and down suggestively.

 

After months of eye contact, saying hello, and otherwise trying to strike up various conversations, Bulma had so far been unsuccessful to get anything more than a side glance or a grunt — and the grunt might be more related to lifting the giant piles of weights he always tossed around.

 

Still, her gym crush—aka McBroody—was totally unmoved, and Bulma was getting frustrated. He had to be the hottest guy she’d seen in ages… he was all angles, with not a smidgen of fat, like his body had been carved out of stone and then brought to life.

 

Bulma had never seen someone so well proportioned in her life!

 

Meanwhile, someone as beautiful and perfect as herself deserved attention, dammit! She wanted only the best, and as far as she could tell, his body was 10/10. Those gym shorts didn’t really leave much to the imagination…

 

Besides the body made for sin, he had an aristocratic face that was handsome in an unusual way, though not as traditionally good-looking like Chi-Chi tended to like. But Bulma was drawn to unique characters and quirks, and there was just something about the haughty line of his jaw, those swooping brows…

 

She nearly glared at him. The least he could do was flash her a smile… but no.

 

She might as well have been gyrating in front of a blank wall.

 

Maybe it was time to go unsubtle and do something she normally _never_ had to do: confront a guy and ask him out herself. There was a first time for anything, even for Bulma Briefs, who thought she had seen and done it all. She couldn’t imagine him rejecting her; maybe he liked the firm hand of a strong woman and for her to initiate.

 

She was game.

 

She was just about to do that during her rest set when something caught McBroody’s eye on the gym’s flat screen TVs.

 

After not hearing one word fly through his mouth in her entire knowledge of him, she saw his lips part in mild shock at the news spoke of a recent fire — some Good Samaritan had jumped in to save a child alongside his friend, who saved a dog.

 

Finally, in a deep, gravelly tone of disbelief:

 

“What in the flying fuck!”

 

.

.

.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> k, my lovelies, this is going to be uber long and probably the last of Chi-Chi's old flashbacks from her perspective. it gets a little sexy near the end (so you've been forewarned).

_Five or so years ago…_

 

 

Chi-Chi always made an effort to visit her father at Fire Mountain once a month. It was only a three-hour drive from West City, so it wasn’t too much of a burden to visit for a weekend.

 

While she was happy and thriving in West City, she never wanted to lose sight of her roots. Papa, while certainly busy running his empire, always made time for his baby daughter… for a long while, it was just them against the world. Though she enjoyed her time with her father, she still looked forward going back to West City… Fire Mountain was a sleepy town and Chi-Chi was itching to get back to the energy and action of West City.

 

After she’d dropped her father off to the airport on Sunday—he had a business meeting to attend on Monday at East City— she was going to turn off the highway and head straight home, when she impulsively turned back to Fire Mountain.

 

Perhaps it was the overcast weather that made her feel melancholy, but she decided she wanted to drive by the old neighborhood, her family’s humble roots where she spent the early days of her childhood. It had been ages since she’d gone there, because when she visited, it often was straight to Papa’s house, and they would go to their favorite haunts in town, then she’d drive home.

 

During this drive, her thoughts drifted to Kakarrot… it must have been eight weeks since she’d last seen or heard from him. Once he walked out her door, it was as if he had disappeared; the only evidence of his stay at her place were the clothes and underwear she’d gotten for him. She wasn’t sure if she should throw them all away or donate them. It made her feel awkward to think about, so she laundered them and stuffed them in a box in her closet to not think about again.

  
She still worried about him on occasion. She tried not to feel guilty for pushing him out, reminding herself that he _was_ relatively healthy when he left and also she didn’t even have any obligation to take care of him in the first place.

 

She didn’t even really know him, though her nostalgic heart still mourned the little boy that was her friend.

 

With that in mind, Chi-Chi made her way to Kintoun Park and parked nearby. It was already dusk, so no children were in sight. The city had made several upgrades to the park since she was a little girl; there seemed to be a massive jungle gym in the middle, a baby zip line, and the sand was replaced with some sort of rubberized fake bark material that was probably a lot more sustainable, but a lot less comfortable than sand.

 

Still, she was glad to see the little horsey springs still in tact, though repainted. She smiled as she walked and patted its head, much like she did as a little girl, like it was a real horse. She laughed to herself as she climbed up one of the ladders and walked across the bridge to slide down. She _was_ a relatively small girl, so she was still able to fit — though barely.

 

She was still chuckling as she decided to head to the swings at the end of the park.

 

As she moved closer, she stumbled, stunned at what she saw.

 

Or rather, _who_.

 

“Are you stalking me?” he said, his voice startled.

 

Kakarrot’s large body looked rather comical, sitting there on the child’s swing.

 

Almost two months had passed but it felt like two minutes, as Chi-Chi drank him in. He had filled out a little more, though his cheekbones and jaw were still as sharp as ever. He was wearing a _suit_ , a tailored, fitted thing, that was all at once jarring and perfect at the same time. She had gotten used to seeing him in lounge wear, but this… head to toe in black.

 

He looked like a beautiful, dark angel.

 

Who was hunched on a child’s swing.

 

Chi-Chi bit her lip from laughing. “Right, like you’re the only one allowed to visit home.”

 

“This is the second time you’re where you shouldn’t be and _I’m_ there,” he pointed out gruffly, looking very annoyed.

 

“You got me. I planted a tracking device in your jacket,” she drawled as she neared. He looked away as she sat on the swing beside him. “You look good.”

 

He angled her a gaze and she flushed when she realized how that sounded.

 

“I-I mean, you look _well_. Healthy,” she clarified, meeting his gaze evenly.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, his tone clipped. She felt his gaze rake against her form, settling lightly on her chest before it went back to her face. “You look _healthy_ too.”

 

She was wearing a form-fitting v-neck sweater and jeans, which was definitely a far cry from the scrubs and pajamas he had seen her in. She resisted the urge to adjust her neckline.

 

“Were you visiting your dad, too?” Chi-Chi asked, as she took an experimental swing. He scoffed beside her.

 

The silence stretched as Chi-Chi swung on the seat.

 

“The old man and I don’t talk,” he said finally.

 

Chi-Chi’s heart lurched. “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

 

“I’m sure,” he said, his tone sarcastic. “It’s fine, Florence.”

 

Chi-Chi’s lips twitched, but didn’t say anything. She was starting to like the nickname. It almost sounded like an endearment…

 

“So what brings you to Fire Mountain this fine weekend?” Chi-Chi asked. He threw her an irritated gaze.

 

“What’s with all the questions?”

 

“Wow, just trying to make conversation!” Chi-Chi exclaimed, her own flare of annoyance growing. She raked her gaze at his form and grimaced. “Are you here for a funeral or something?”

 

His eyes widened fractionally at that, before his expression shuttered. “Why?”

 

“You’re dressed like a pallbearer.”

 

He barked out a laugh. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

 

He fell silent again, not answering her question. She sighed in frustration, not understanding why he was so closed off. After all the time they’d spent together… she had wished they’d had some sort of camaraderie. She cared a little about his well being after all. Despite his protestations about who he was then and who he was now, there was _something_ about him that told her there was more to this story.

 

He radiated a sense of sadness, underneath all that bluster and sarcasm.

 

Still, Chi-Chi knew she wasn’t anything more to him than a blip in his past; one that he barely remembered at that. And even now, she was hardly his friend. She was just a girl who was there at the wrong place at the right time, who probably had too much compassion for her fellow man.

 

Chi-Chi’s swings slowed as she felt a drop hit her face, then another.

 

“I think the weather is telling us it’s time to go,” Chi-Chi said as she got up from the swing.

 

Kakarrot didn’t stand up, continuing to stare into the distance.

 

Chi-Chi sighed. Fine. She didn’t have the energy to deal with this, especially as the small droplets were gradually turning to larger, more insistent ones.

 

“Okay, well, I _guess_ it was nice seeing you. Take care of yourself,” Chi-Chi said, giving him a final pat on the shoulder, before she turned and jogged toward the other side of the playground where her car was parked.

 

By the time she got to the car, the rain was _pelting_ her now, and she cursed, trying to get into her car as fast as possible. Even with that short timeframe, her sweater already felt drenched and her pants were damp. She would have to drop by Papa’s and get a fresh change of clothes before heading back to the highway…

 

She had just pulled out and started to drive down the block, when she saw Kakarrot walking down the sidewalk in the pouring rain, nary a raincoat or umbrella. Was he walking leisurely to his car? What the hell was he doing?

 

She cursed and drove up beside him, honking her horn to catch his attention. He paused and she rolled down her window.

 

“Do you need a ride?” She shouted a little over the noise of the rain.

 

“I’m fine, go away,” he snapped, then continued to walk.

 

She placed her car on park and jumped out. She heard him curse and throw his hands in the air.

 

“What now?! I told you to go away,” Kakarrot exclaimed.

 

“Get in the car you idiot! You’re going to get pneumonia if you just keep walking around in the rain like this,” Chi-Chi shouted. “You’re _not_ going to undo all the work I did by keeling over from hypothermia!”

 

Kakarrot stared at her in disbelief. “You’re fucking insane, you know that? Do you know who I am?”

 

“G-get in the car,” Chi-Chi exclaimed pointing. She was getting cold now, the sweater clinging to her, and she really hoped he was going to listen or _she_ was going to end up getting pneumonia herself.

 

“Fucking hell,” he grumbled, before turning to head to her car.

 

She nearly sighed in relief as she jogged back to her vehicle and got into the driver’s seat. Kakarrot had to adjust the passenger seat far back in order for him to fit, but even then, he seemed massive inside her car.

 

“Why can’t you just take a nice gesture at face value?” Chi-Chi snapped, her hand shaking slightly from the cold.

 

“I didn’t ask you for anything, you’re doing this all to yourself,” he pointed out as he snapped the seatbelt on. “Just drop me off at the train station.”

 

“F-fine,” she said. “There, what that so hard? I can’t believe you were going to walk all the way to the train station in this weather.”

 

“It’s only ten blocks.”

 

She gaped at him and shook her head. “Stupid.”

 

“What’s _stupid_ is you stood in the rain for no reason yelling at a man with a gun,” Kakarrot snapped, brushing his jacket aside to show proof of his words. Chi-Chi swallowed, a sliver of fear striking her. He saw her expression change and moved to undo his seatbelt and leave, but she placed her hand on his arm.

 

“Stop being an asshole,” she said. He looked at her with a confused expression.

 

“You’re an idiot,” he said, but leaned back against the seat.

 

She agreed, but still went and put the car into drive.

 

When she turned the opposite direction of the train, he whipped his head toward her.

 

“Where are we going?”

 

“Detour. We’re going to get a change of clothes, then I’ll drop you off at the train station. Unless you want to sit in soaking wet clothes the three or so hours it’ll take for it to take you back to West City,” Chi-Chi said, clipped.

 

“ _Where_ are we going?” he repeated angrily.

 

“Jesus! We’re going to my old house, I have some clothes there and you can borrow some of Papa’s stuff,” Chi-Chi snapped.

 

“You have no sense of self preservation. Are you really that stupid? You don’t _know_ me. I just showed you I was _carrying,_ and now you’re going to show me where you and your dad _live?_ ”

 

“Well, if you were going to do something bad to me, you would have already, right?” Chi-Chi pointed out. “You lived with me for four weeks. You know where I live in West City. Why do something now? What, are you going to _rob_ me?”

 

“Maybe,” Kakarrot said, crossing his arms.

 

“What do I have that you’d want, anyway?” Chi-Chi laughed, and he gave her an odd look she couldn’t quite read, before putting his attention back out the window.

 

In no time, Chi-Chi was pulling up her father’s familiar driveway, and Kakarrot seemed surprised.

 

“This is the Ox King’s house?”

 

It was a large house on a corner lot up a nice street, but Chi-Chi supposed it was still rather modest considering the fact her father was a multi-millionaire. But, it was the house her mother and father chose when they moved out of their old neighborhood. She indeed inherited her dad’s sentimentality. She knew that while they could afford and have more, her father wanted to preserve her mother’s memory as much as possible. Besides, why would a widowed man need something more, especially when his only child lived in another city?

 

“Yep,” Chi-Chi said as they got out and jogged to the front door to escape more rain.

 

At the last minute, Kakarrot looked panicked. “Your dad’s not home, right?”

 

Chi-Chi laughed and it made her think of high school and sneaking around with forbidden boyfriends.

 

“No, he left today on business,” she said as she unlocked the door with her spare key.

 

Kakarrot seemed extremely subdued as he took off his shoes and shrugged off his jacket so she could hang it onto the hooks by the door. She nervously watched him remove his holster, and check the safety on his gun, before wrapping it up under his arm.

 

“OK, let’s get you some clothes and then we can be on our way,” Chi-Chi said motioning him to follow her up the stairs to the bedrooms.

 

“You’re too trusting,” Kakarrot said quietly as he followed her to the master bedroom where her father slept.

 

Chi-Chi shrugged, opening her father’s closet. “Why shouldn’t I trust you?”

 

His laugh was startled as she rummaged for something appropriate. Her father was a _large_ man, both in height and width, so whatever she gave him would definitely not fit, but she figured if she found something with drawstrings that Kakarrot could make do and a t-shirt was a t-shirt.

 

“Was this your mom?” Kakarrot asked, off to the side. Chi-Chi had just found exactly what she was looking for when Kakarrot had bent down to pick up the frame by her father’s bedside table.

 

Chi-Chi smiled as she approached him. “Yeah. She was beautiful, right?”

 

“You look like her,” he remarked, placing the frame down alongside his holster and gun.

 

“I don’t know,” Chi-Chi said, shrugging. She always thought her mother was a stunner, and that she’d somehow gotten the Ox side of things a bit more. A little more big boned, she thought with a rueful smile. Still she was fine with simply being “cute.”

 

He started to unbutton his shirt without any preamble. Chi-Chi flushed and took that as a hint to leave, dropping her father’s drawstring linen house pants and the smallest t-shirt she could find onto the bed. She could swear she saw him smirk as she scrambled to leave the room.

 

As she changed out of her wet clothes and looked for something appropriate to wear, she looked out her bedroom window in dismay. It was really pouring. She padded out her room, worried. Would it be safe to drive out there?

 

She caught Kakarrot just standing out in the hall, looking at the walls, where more photos were hung. She regarded him in her dad’s clothes and couldn’t believe how he managed to make it work. He’d rolled the sleeves of her father’s too-large t-shirt showing off his buff arms, then tucked the fabric into her dad’s much larger pants. As for those pants, he’d rolled the waist enough so that the legs weren’t too long and the drawstring pulled it all together.

 

He looked like he was simply wearing a sloppy martial arts gi. Especially since he was currently padding around barefoot.

 

How does he do it? Chi-Chi thought, dazed. How could he look good in _anything?_

 

She was suddenly very aware that she was wearing her oversized college sweatshirt and baggy pants, and that her hair was a matted mess.

 

His hair looked adorably disheveled in comparison.

 

Ugh, she thought.

 

“I _do_ remember you,” he said when she came nearer, and she saw he was gazing at her college graduation pic with her father.

 

She still had that extra fifteen (probably twenty, but she didn’t want to think about that) pounds on in that pic, and her braces still weren’t off. She was smiling widely, brandishing her nursing degree certificate.

 

While she was an adult, she looked like a small, chubby teenager, especially standing beside her enormous giant of a father.

 

She cringed. Her dad loved that photo of them, and she was loathe to ask him to take it down.

 

“You were the nurse who baked all the cookies for the donors,” Kakarrot said with a lopsided grin.

 

She stifled her groan. And she ate all the cookies that the donors didn’t…

 

“Yeah, that was me,” Chi-Chi said, her face red.

 

“Dammit, I wish you baked some cookies when I stayed with you,” he sighed, and Chi-Chi almost said she could whip up a batch the next time, but bit her tongue just in time.

 

There wasn’t going to be a next time.

 

“Look, it’s really pouring out there,” Chi-Chi said finally. “I’m not sure it’s safe to drive. Do you have any place to be early tomorrow?”

 

He made an impatient sound. “You should have just dropped me off at the train station!”

 

“Well, _sorry_ for wanting to prevent hypothermia. Good luck calling a cab or whatever in this weather, then, if you’re so gung ho to take the stupid train,” Chi-Chi snapped.

 

She threw her hands in the air when he glared at her.

 

“Whatever, I’m done here. I’m not going to beg you to stay, I’m just trying to be _responsible_ ,” Chi-Chi said going down the hall and down the steps to the kitchen.

 

He was so _so_ ungrateful. She was just trying to help!

 

She worried about him, but she wasn’t an endless charity train.

 

She wasn’t surprised, however, when he showed up in the kitchen a few moments after she just finished boiling water for her chamomile tea.

 

“Does your dad have any alcohol?” he said finally. “I need a drink.”

 

Chi-Chi grimaced and decided, well, if would take the edge off his grumpy mood…

 

“Yes, of course,” she said, bending see what was in her father’s liquor cabinet. “What do you want?”

 

“What’s the hardest thing he has?” he asked, looming over her, then immediately pushed her aside with a gasp. “Is this a Johnny Walker Blue?”

 

“Eh?” Chi-Chi wasn’t sure what he was going on about. She didn’t know much about whiskey. She was a wine gal herself. He was already rummaging the cupboards for a tumbler.

 

She got up from the cabinet. Clearly, this was a special drink, though she was rather alarmed when he poured himself a finger and immediately downed the entire thing in a gulp, then poured himself another.

 

“Jeez! Slow down!” Chi-Chi gasped, trying to pull the bottle away.

 

His answer was to turn and down the other glass, and this time he coughed a little.

 

“Are you trying to make yourself drunk?” Chi-Chi snapped, smacking him against the back.

 

“Give the woman a prize! I’m going to get blitzed and then pass out, then this stupid fucking night will be over.”

 

“Do what you want, I don’t care,” Chi-Chi said finally, trying to clear her expression.

 

“I never _asked_ for your help.” His eyes glittered like ice.

 

“Yeah, sorry you can’t seem to understand the idea of compassion. You looked liked you needed a friend tonight, that’s all. So sorry for acting like a decent human being,” Chi-Chi nearly spat. “But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

 

“Whatever,” he said, taking another generous swig.

 

Chi-Chi clamped her lips together. There was no use trying to reason with someone so unreasonable. It would be preferable for her that he pass out… at least he’d be quiet.

 

She stomped toward the living room with her tea, determined not to have his ornery attitude affect her. She would watch TV, pretend he wasn’t there—

 

“I need to be back by noon tomorrow,” he said brusquely, entering the living room with his bottle and glass.

 

“I’m not a chauffeur service,” Chi-Chi snapped.

 

“You became one when you accosted me in the rain,” he returned.

 

“I did not _accost—_ whatever.” Chi-Chi grit her teeth.

 

He wasn’t there. He wasn’t there. She was going to ignore him.

 

She turned on the TV and turned to the local news. Within moments, there was a severe weather warning, explaining that everyone should remain in their homes unless absolutely necessary. Chi-Chi pointed to the TV and glared at Kakarrot, who merely rolled his eyes, sipping his whiskey gingerly this time. At least he wasn’t guzzling it like water now…

 

Eventually, she found a comedy to settle on, and she was glad that Kakarrot didn’t protest. Back in her old apartment when he was still recovering, he often tried to commandeer the TV remote and force them to watch some sort of MMA tournament, boxing fight, or football game.

 

The night wore on, Chi-Chi finally relaxing as the storm’s sounds washed overhead. She stifled a yawn and glanced at her couch neighbor who didn’t seem to be looking at the television at all, but at a faraway point on the wall.

 

He had that same expression from the swings earlier in the evening, and Chi-Chi hated how her heart twinged at the sight. He looked _so_ sad…

 

“Hey, you okay?” she ventured quietly.

 

He took a sharp intake of breath, like returning to himself and then swallowed a swig from his whiskey. He’d been drinking the entire time and she now wondered if she should have protested a bit more. His cheeks were flushed and she was sure he was “blitzed” as he so eloquently put earlier in the night.

 

“This Florence Nightingale routine is getting old,” he said, and the edges of his words sounded slurred, like he had caramels rolling around in his tongue.

 

“Fine, forget I asked,” Chi-Chi sighed, shaking her head. “I’m going to bed.”

 

She had just gotten to her feet when suddenly, he blurted out, “Today’s the day Ma died.”

 

Chi-Chi fell back to the couch with a shocked flop. That explained everything… the weird mood all night, being back home, maybe even how he dressed. Despite herself, she found her hand reaching out for his.

 

“I… I’m sorry,” she said, meaning it. She squeezed his hand, hoping she could somehow telepathically transmit how sorry she was, how much she understood.

 

She missed her own mother every day.

 

“You asked me once...” he began, his words slow and labored, like he was trying very hard to concentrate. “… what happened after college.”

 

Chi-Chi’s eyes widened and she nodded, scooting closer.

 

“What happened is Ma died and my life’s been fucked up ever since. That’s what happened,” he said, angling her a bitter, tight smile.

 

Chi-Chi nodded slowly. Though it couldn’t really explain everything, she could understand how such a catastrophic event could unwind a young person. She, herself, had been young and traumatized when she and her mother were hit by that drunk driver. It took years of therapy for her to let go of her survivor’s guilt. That one event was what led her to also become a nurse, due to all the compassion she received when she went through that trauma.

 

As a child, she vowed she would give the same amount of care to anyone who needed it.

 

“I’m here for you,” she said kindly.

 

His brows furrowed at her soft words. “Are you for real?”

 

She blinked. “I like to think so?”

 

He shook his head and sighed, pulling his hand away from hers to rub his face.

 

“I am loaded. I need to go to bed.”

 

“That makes the two of us, minus the loaded part,” Chi-Chi said dryly, getting back to her feet. She extended her hand and he seemed confused by the gesture but took it anyway. He swayed as he stood, and she immediately went under his arm.

 

He laughed. “Deja vu. I’m fine, Florence, just give me a sec.”

 

“I don’t know…” Chi-Chi said, her arm still around his waist. He seemed really wibbly-wobbly.

 

“I think you’re just trying to cop a feel.”

 

“You wish,” Chi-Chi returned, rolling her eyes.

 

“Maybe I do.”

 

Chi-Chi forced a laugh, though her cheeks reddened. “You are drunk.”

 

“Yep,” he said as they began to walk toward the stairs. He did seem rather able to walk up them okay, not leaning against her at all, but Chi-Chi kept her arm around him and he let her. She couldn’t help but feel like they were an affectionate couple heading to bed together, and she flushed, embarrassed at her train of thought.

 

“A-all right, I think you can handle getting into the spare room,” Chi-Chi said as they reached the top, hating how her voice shook in her nervousness of their proximity.

 

“Why can’t I just share your bed? For old times sake? Whaddya say?” he drawled, his arms looping around her waist.

 

“Stop making jokes, I’m tired,” Chi-Chi said, trying to pry his hands off her, but instead he pulled her flush against his body, her breasts pressing up against the broad wall of his chest. He was so _so_ warm, so _solid..._

 

“I’m not joking.”

 

His voice was low, almost a growl.

 

“You’re drunk,” Chi-Chi repeated, placing her palms against his chest to push him away, but he pressed her closer in response, his head dipping low, his nose grazing her temple, then her ear.

 

“We’ve established that,” he said, his lips brushing the shell of her ear in a feather like touch.

 

She shivered and swallowed, her pulse skyrocketing. This was wrong. He was just feeling lonely and sad and, well, she was an available woman. She had to put a stop to this, even though his lips were now pressing against her jaw, down her neck. She allowed her eyes to close momentarily to enjoy the sensation, _just for a moment_ , before she pushed against him more insistently.

 

“That’s enough,” she stated firmly.

 

“Mm, come on Florence,” he murmured against her skin, his lips hovering over the pulse point on her neck. “Haven’t you thought about it? You and me?”

 

“You have a giant ego,” she said tremulously. She wasn’t about to admit that she’d fantasized about him on occasion… all the time. Whatever.

 

“I thought about you,” he said, his arms loosening, but only so his hands could run down the sides of her waist and hips.

 

“Oh, stop it!” she exclaimed, jerking away in both embarrassment and shock and something she didn’t want to admit. She took a deliberate step back, and was confused that she felt a little bereft as his hands fell away from her.

 

She was about to yell at him and lock herself in her room when she looked up at his face.

 

He was working his jaw, clearly trying to keep it together. The planes of his face were laced with unmasked pain, and his eyes… they were glossy with drink and but also with the intensity of someone trying and failing to gather himself.

 

Her stupid heart lurched.

 

She launched herself at him, grasping his face into a searing kiss.

 

He tasted like whiskey and something that was uniquely him. Uniquely Kakarrot. They were kissing each other with equal fervor, desire lancing through her, as his hands grasped her bum to pull her close. He was breathing heavily and pulling at her college sweatshirt, the clothing hardly making a sound as it joined the floor.

 

She found herself walking backward through the door of her room, until the back of her legs hit her bed. Then without warning, she was flat on her back, still in her bra, his hands urgently pulling her pants off her, until it dangled on one ankle, as he pressed her on the bed.

 

He was breathing rapidly and was impatiently pulling his own drawstring pants down, her eyes widening at all the speed this was occurring. His lips were ravaging hers, bruising in its intensity, and she could feel his hardness press against the thin fabric of her panties.

 

She pressed trembling hands against his chest and was unsure if she wanted to push him away or pull him closer, but suddenly, he was tearing her panties down.

 

“W-wait—” she gasped, but he was beyond reason, beyond listening.

 

He spread her legs and pushed inside her without warning. Shock coursed through Chi-Chi. They were still partially dressed, all the clothing hanging off them like limp rags, his oversized shirt still on and his pants were barely off his waist.

 

He paused briefly, to let her adjust, to let him stretch her and she swallowed, her eyes wide with shock. But it was only a moment, and then he was moving, his arm around her back, pulling her up to meet him as he drove in to her. He groaned at the effort, his eyes closed shut. She could feel the fabric of his pants rub against the softness of her thigh as he moved against her, her legs wrapped around him.

 

She was startled, confused, overwhelmed. She had never had sex happen this quickly, this fast, with barely any preamble.

 

But he seemed desperate, like her body was sustenance, and each thrust was a gasp of air after being suffocated for so long.

 

“Oh god,” he gasped, “You’re so tight, you...”

 

She felt him kick her pants and his own pants off, finally pulling that shirt off him, so they were both naked as the day they were born.

 

She still felt confused about all that was happening, knowing this was all wrong but her body didn’t seem to mind at all. Her breasts strained against him, her womb flooding with heat and moisture. She could feel herself clench helplessly around him as the physical side of her welcomed him eagerly.

 

Emotionally, psychologically, she felt used. She _had_ kissed him, wanted and encouraged him, but their rapid connection made her feel paradoxically disconnected. It was clear she was simply an outlet for his frustration and sadness. She cursed her own trusting nature, her stupidity, and her own body for desiring him so much, for loving how all this felt, and wanting him, wanting him still.

 

She didn’t realize tears were leaking from her eyes until she felt his movements slow, his fingers drifting to her face as his heated eyes clouded over with realization over what was happening, what he was doing.

 

“Oh, Florence, shit, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered shakily.

 

He withdrew from her, shaking, gently arranging her on the bed and pulling the covers over her. She trembled, her eyes wide and wet, as he wiped her cheeks with his fingers. He looked tortured, upset, and he kissed her nose and her cheeks.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeated, his voice thick and slurred, pulling her close.

 

This was so fucked up, Chi-Chi thought, as he rubbed his hand gently up and down her back. She was upset but she also still wanted him. Just… maybe not like this. She could still feel his hardness against her belly and she found herself straining against him.

 

He was still kissing her face, shaking, trying to be comforting, but she could tell he still wanted her, was confused as to what to do, and she found herself lifting her chin to catch his mouth as he trailed down.

 

They kissed tentatively this time, both of them caught in a torrent of emotions. Hesitantly, he trailed his hand down her torso, but she let him, and down his hand went until his fingers found the apex of her thighs.

 

“Okay?” he asked, his voice strained and heavy.

 

She nodded. She couldn’t speak. He kissed her in response, while one finger, then two, dipped into warmth, then curled to press into her sensitive spot. She mewed in pleasure, and she could feel Kakarrot smile against her mouth from her response.

 

He alternated dipping into her warmth and then back out to play with the center of her womanhood, jolts of pleasure zipping through her at each touch. She began to buck under his hand.

 

Her breath grew more labored as he continued teasing her, his fingers rapid and insistent. She shut her eyes as the tension knotted further and further. She threw her head back and his lips latched onto her throat. She heard herself emit sounds that she never knew she was capable, and she could hear him groan in response, pressing against her enticingly.

 

“O-oh, please, oh...” Chi-Chi babbled, and then her eyes popped open when he pressed his thumb _just so_ , causing a rush of sensation. All at once, she fell apart, as electricity zipped from her core, through her entire being. She keened and shook beneath him. She dimly heard him chuckle in sexy delight.

 

“My turn?” she heard him ask, his voice heavy with want. It was odd, since he’d already been inside her. But she supposed it was a way to make sure, considering how they started, and how it had gotten quickly out of hand.

 

She nodded as her gentle orgasm crested over her.

 

She was more than ready for him when he slipped inside her, and since she was still in the throes of her orgasm, her body welcomed him greedily, clenching around him involuntarily. She saw him grit his teeth and curse, pausing briefly to ground himself, before pushing himself to the hilt.

 

“You’re like a vice,” he ground out.

 

He began to move, his thrusts sending heady jolts through her system, and she was _so_ sensitive still, still coming down from her orgasm, still tingling, that she had no idea how to process these new sensations.

 

It felt good, it was too much, it was too intense… she felt like her nerves were frayed, unsure how to handle all this stimuli.

 

She blinked rapidly as she looked up at his face, which now seemed confused, almost distraught. She stared up at him helplessly as she felt something take over her body, like an alien possession. It was confusing, and she wasn’t sure if she should protest or encourage him to continue and press even closer— though she was sure if they were more joined, they would fuse into one.

 

Then, she felt a tension so deep begin as he ground into her core—she was flabbergasted with her own reaction. She’d heard from some women that after one orgasm, another could be close behind but she never once felt that phenomenon. And yet, her body was quivering beneath him, yearning for something so close, and he was grasping at her desperately as he pounded his body against her form.

 

“Kakarrot…!” Chi-Chi moaned, clenching her thighs tightly, hanging onto him for dear life.

 

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, his eyes intense and stormy.

 

She felt herself flush all the way down to her chest at his scrutiny.

 

He was practically breaking her in half, but the pain mixed with pleasure, causing her emotions to swirl and rush at her with the force of a gale wind. She never had sex this intense, this wild, not with someone like him, whose body seemed made for her, all for her.

 

She gazed at his handsome face screwed in concentration, his head shaking intermittently like he was trying to clear it but failing… and if her heart weren’t beating like a taiko drum right now, it would have skipped a beat.

 

Somehow, he’d snaked his hand between them, managing an angle that allowed him to touch her bud while he pounded against her.

 

 _W_ _as it possible to die during sex? s_ he thought wildly. Kakarrot consumed her senses. He was all over her, inside, outside, his breath hot against her skin, and his fingers were just—abruptly, he pulled his hand back to grab the side of her hip in a bruising grip, his movements frantic.

 

She arched, the sensations making her short circuit.

 

“Oh _god_ ,” he bit out, and he jerked against her artlessly. She felt his warmth fill her as white hot heat coursed through, nearly punching her in the gut with its intensity.

 

Chi-Chi saw fireworks beneath her eyelids as her lips parted in shock, a guttural noise escaping her throat, as sanity slipped and then she knew nothing at all.

 

.

.

.

 

Chi-Chi was sore, like she’d just done the most intense workout and was severely out of shape. Her limbs felt heavy, and she felt a twinge between her thighs when she moved. Oof. She was going to walk funny for a little while.

 

As she came fluttering to her senses, she became aware of a heavy weight across her stomach. She looked down to see a dark head resting on her breast, and that weight was an arm thrown across her torso.

 

Chi-Chi’s face flamed.

 

She slept with Kakarrot.

 

She tried to suppress the squeak bubbling up her throat. She was a mess of conflicting emotions. Mortification that it even happened _,_ pleasure at the memory of all that happened, confusion as to even _how and why_ it happened, worry whether she had just made a huge mistake, and want, she wanted him still…

 

She must have shifted or made a move, because she heard him mutter in protest, his hand grasping her hip possessively as he nuzzled her bare chest, ghosting his lips against the side of her breast.

 

She gasped as his hand lazily drifted over her naked side, while his lips gradually grew more firm, as he stirred, waking up but also clearly interested in staying in bed to do something other than sleep.

 

She could still hear the rain outside and she craned her head to see the side clock blink 3:00 am…

 

“Kakarrot...” she murmured, as he took her nipple in his mouth once more.

 

“I can’t get enough of you,” he breathed, his voice rough with sleep and want.

 

She could only moan in response as he continued his slow, sensual assault on her body. His hand running up and down her hip, gripping her bum, while he continued to lather attention on her breast. He moved up and pulled her head down for another kiss.

 

This was less desperate than any of the ones they’d shared before. This was… exploratory, like they had forever to get to know each other, forever to learn each other’s ins, outs, wants, dreams…

 

She clung to him, feeling feverish. She’d never felt this way toward another man in her life. She had no idea that desire could feel this way, that her body could even _behave_ that way. And the way he looked at her, the way she felt… it was like her heart was squeezing her from the inside out.

 

He broke the kiss to brush her hair from her face. His gaze was tender, a strange mix of heat and affection, as he cupped her face in his hand.

 

“Chi-Chi...” he whispered.

 

That must have been the first time he said her name, she thought dimly.

 

They made love again, but it felt different this time.

 

Sweet, affectionate, less desperate.

 

He wasn’t gasping for air.

 

They breathed each other in and felt alive.

 

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i may disappear for a while as work gets busy, so I wanted to leave you something to tide you over. :)
> 
> thanks for reading~


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Managed to pull this out.. :)

_Now..._

 

After a few weeks of working as an ER nurse and juggling her duties, Chi-Chi had to pull back a little. While Papa now lived part-time in West City to be closer to Chi-Chi and his grandson, he couldn’t watch Gohan every night—he was very hands on and didn’t want Chi-Chi to get a babysitter when he was in town—though it was rather easy since it was _mostly_ when Gohan was ready to head to bed and she’d be back before he woke.

 

Still, she was glad she was actively working again, in the profession she loved, even if it was part-time. She ruefully thought that she simply didn’t have the energy she did in her early to mid-twenties any more, so she could only really handle a few hours every other day at maximum while still being able to do all the activities and tasks for Gohan.

 

Last night was especially tough due to the chaos of that crazy apartment fire. When her shift was over, she went straight to Papa’s condo and collapsed in the spare bedroom next to Gohan’s, excited for sleep.

 

It wasn’t until the morning that she noticed she had several missed calls and texts from Bulma. She usually had her phone on “Do Not Disturb” mode between midnight and 6 so she never got buzzed.

 

 _TURN ON THE TV! Go to the break room! —_ Bulma

 

 _Text me! —_ Bulma

 

 _Why aren’t you replying??!?! —_ Bulma

 

 _Calling you now_ — Bulma

 

 _Bitch, pick up your phone!!!!!!!!!!!!_ —Bulma

 

Chi-Chi shook her head in confusion and saw that there were at least 3 voice messages, all of them variations of Bulma’s text messages. But then there was a shakily hushed one that truly disturbed Chi-Chi:

 

“ _You were right, he’s back. Give me a call, I need to run… I think I fucked up.”_

 

Chi-Chi frowned and looked at the clock. It was 8 am and she wondered if it was too early to call Bulma. Bulma seemed rather frantic. But, since it was early, Chi-Chi decided to text Bulma first:

 

 _Hey, just got your messages. Is everything okay? Do you still need me to call? —_ Chi-Chi

 

After she sent the message, she padded over to her son’s room and saw he was still asleep. She smiled and pressed a soft kiss on his brow, before heading to the kitchen.

 

Her father was already up, with a mug of coffee.

 

“Hey, baby, good morning,” Ox Mau greeted. “Coffee?”

 

“Please,” Chi-Chi said. “How was Gohan?”

 

“Great as usual,” Ox said easily with a wide grin. “He was pretty happy about that new martial arts class you put him in. He kept talking about his sensei, Master Piccolo. He’s a staff sergeant for the WCPD during the day—”

 

Chi-Chi lifted her hand and rolled her eyes. “Okay, that’s enough of that, Papa.”

 

“He’s a handsome bloke. _Really_ tall, too,” Ox went on. Everyone apparently knew about her preference for tall boys, she thought with amusement.

 

Chi-Chi sighed. Ever since Gohan turned four, her father seemed gung-ho to set her up with a man. Something about how Gohan needed a father figure and some such. She loved her own father a lot, but his constant meddling in her love life was wearing thin.

 

“The moment you start dating again, I’ll do the same,” Chi-Chi said wryly.

 

“You know that’s different,” Ox said. “Your mother was the love of my life. I’m content.”

 

“Papa, I’ll start dating when I’m ready. I’m not opposed to it,” Chi-Chi said as patiently as she could. “I _just_ got back to work. With that and Gohan, I don’t really have time to date.”

 

“You should meet Master Piccolo,” Ox said, as if she hadn’t spoken.

 

Chi-Chi shook her head and sipped her coffee. Her father was well-named: he was pretty stubborn once he set his mind on something, so she simply stayed silent. She wasn’t going to argue with her father about her dating life.

 

She looked in her father’s fridge and decided to start whipping up a nice breakfast for all of them, so by the time she was done, her boy would probably be awake.

 

True to her prediction, Gohan padded sleepily into the dining room just as Chi-Chi was finishing her famous protein pancakes. She also made them all some bacon and scrambled eggs.

 

As they settled in for breakfast, Chi-Chi thought she was rather content. She may not have a perfect family, with a husband and parcel of kids like she had always dreamed, but sitting in the kitchen with Papa and her son having a nice meal…

 

It was enough.

 

There was no point rocking the boat.

 

.

.

.

 

_At Kame House Restaurant…_

 

Goku was surprised to see the staff clap when he showed up for work the next morning.

 

“They didn’t clap for me,” Krillin grumbled good-naturedly when Goku grabbed his apron and tied it on.

 

“Excuse me, I gave you a punch on the shoulder,” Launch drawled. “I _love_ puppies. Good job, boss. Good job, Goku.”

 

“Aww, anyone would have,” Goku said modestly as he washed his hands to get ready to prep for the day.

 

“I wouldn’t have,” Yajirobe said.

 

“Because you’re a loser, Yaji,” Mai drawled. “And Goku’s the nicest man in the universe.”

 

“Mai, that’s not fair,” Goku broke in. “Yaji’s a dumpling _artiste_ here. How could a guy who makes such beautiful, tasty food be a loser?”

 

Mai lifted a brow.

 

“Nicest man in the universe,” she repeated with a grin and Yajirobe ducked his head, flushing at Goku’s defense.

  
Goku squirmed a little as all his co-workers continued to congratulate him for his good deed, but soon they all got into the rhythm of the day and started prepping for the lunch rush. Since it was the day, Goku stayed in the back to help them do all the necessary prepping as he normally did.

 

After a few hours of this, Launch walked in, looking confused and cautious.

 

“Hey, boss, there’s a… there’s a cop here,” Launch said. Goku and Krillin exchanged looks.

 

Krillin had said he was an ex-con…

 

“Did he say his name, show his badge?” Krillin asked as the kitchen staff looked at each other nervously. Goku wondered why. He also thought it was rather odd of Krillin to ask if a police officer showed his credentials.

 

“Yeah. A Sgt. Piccolo Namek? Said he wanted to ask questions about that fire last night?”

 

Goku saw Krillin visibly relax, as did the rest of the crew.

 

“Okay, tell him I’ll be right out,” Krillin said.

 

“Actually, he said he wanted to speak to you _and_ Goku privately,” Launch went on.

 

Krillin wiped his hands on the apron, frowning contemplatively. “Well, okay, send him back here. We can talk in my office.”

 

“Why’s everyone so jumpy?” Goku asked, and the crew looked away, but Krillin laughed lightly.

 

“Don’t worry about it Goku. I’ll explain later,” he said. Goku didn’t really have a chance to even ask more questions when the double swing doors to the kitchen opened with a bang, causing everyone in the crew —except for Goku— to jump, startled.

 

Goku watched the man scan the room, clearly looking for Krillin and him. The stranger was taller than him by a few inches, and looked to be in a bad mood, which worsened as his eyes sharpened on him. It seemed like a mix of disbelief and anger.

 

“You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re not hiding at _all_ , are you?” The man’s voice was gruff, startled, and sounded more like a growl than a regular speaking.

 

“Huh? Excuse me?” Goku said, pointing to himself. “Are you talking to me?”

 

“Sergeant? How can we help you?” Krillin broke in, his gaze bobbing back and forth between Goku and Sgt. Piccolo.

 

“What game are you playing, Korzen?” The man called Piccolo barked, ignoring the shorter man.

 

Goku looked at Krillin, confused and unsure. Krillin seemed at a loss. The rest of the crew watched, fascinated, though pretended they were still going about their kitchen duties.

 

“Are we in trouble?” Goku asked hesitantly.

 

“What’s wrong with him?” Piccolo asked impatiently, turning his attention back to Krillin.

 

“Sir, with all due respect, I’d like you to please state your case. Goku and I haven’t done anything criminal.”

 

“Goku? That’s what he called himself last night,” Piccolo said, speaking of him as if he wasn’t in the same room. It annoyed him a little.

 

“It’s my name,” Goku said tensely.

 

Piccolo’s eyes narrowed and glanced around, as if suddenly realizing they had other eyes and ears.

 

“Where can we talk without an audience?”

 

“I have a small office—”

 

“I’m not interested in talking to you, Seng,” Piccolo interrupted, crossing his arms. “I’ll deal with you later. My business right now is with Korzen here.”

 

Krillin’s eyes widened, like he suddenly realized something. “Y-you know him from _before…_!”

 

“What the hell are you talking about, Seng?” Piccolo barked.

 

“Goku… I think you need to talk about Sgt. Namek here… privately,” Krililn urged, already leading them to the office.

 

Piccolo seemed disconcerted that he was being led to what essentially was a utility closet, but acknowledged the foldable seats and table.

 

Once Goku and Piccolo were in the room, Krillin closing the door behind him, Piccolo launched himself at Goku, grabbing his shirt.

 

“Let’s just cut the bullshit!” Piccolo yelled. The man was incredibly strong and Goku was so startled, that he let him grab his shirt. “You’re going to tell me what the hell’s going on, you piece of shit, and what game you’re trying to pull going out like that so public!”

 

“I have no clue what you’re talking about!” Goku yelled, trying to push him away, but he held firm, shaking him.

 

“Going after a Frieza target like that! What message are you trying to say? What’s the end game, here?! And why didn’t you check in with me or Kami?”

 

“F-f-frieza?!!” Goku could hear Krillin squeak behind the door.

 

The utility closet really wasn’t that private, considering how much yelling was happening.

 

“I have no idea what a freezer has to do with anything!” Goku cried, now trying to pry Piccolo’s hands off his shirt. Piccolo refused to let him go.

 

Piccolo raised his fist, “Why you _little piece of—”_

 

Goku moved quickly out of the way, anticipating the punch, though he could still feel the whoosh of air as the sergeant’s fist sailed past his face.

 

“If you can’t talk to me calmly, then I don’t want to talk to you,” Goku said resolutely, frowning.

 

Violence was never the answer.

 

“What is _wrong_ with you Korzen?” Piccolo spat.

 

“Why do you keep calling me that?!”

 

“Because it’s your _real_ fucking name! So is ‘Goku’ your new cover? Who got you? CIA? FBI? DEA? Why haven’t I been informed of your whereabouts the past five years?!”

 

Goku’s mind whirled at the rapid words thrown at him. What did all those letters mean?

 

“I have no clue what you’re talking about!” Goku yelled, his heart beating rapidly. For some reason, Piccolo was really agitating him. All the yelling, the words that made no sense… it was giving him a headache and an innate sense of trepidation. “I… I don’t know _anything_. I don’t know wh-what freezer you’re talking about or what ‘korzen’ means! I’m not from here, I…”

 

Piccolo covered his mouth, staring at him in disbelief. “Are you having a panic attack right now?”

 

“Do you know who I am?” Goku asked point blank, in between deep breaths as he tried to calm himself.

 

At that, Piccolo stared at him for a few beats, then burst out laughing, a harsh, awful sound.

 

“It’s not funny,” Goku snapped, face flushing. This guy was so _mean!_ This was the type of guy that the islanders had warned him about. Cruel and cold.

 

“What the fuck is going on, Korzen?” Piccolo asked finally, his face straightening.

 

“Is that my name?”

 

“Fucking hell,” Piccolo bit out, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You have thirty seconds to tell me the _truth,_ what you’ve been up to these past five years, and what the hell you were doing yesterday before I throw you behind bars.”

 

Goku didn’t want to go to jail! Goku immediately, but stiltedly, told the angry sergeant all he knew about his memory condition. He explained what he’d been up to for the past few years, leading up to his arrival on West City, to saving the girl and dog from the fire.

 

Throughout this entire time, Piccolo’s expression did not change. It was a simple, blank, wooden expression, just taking everything in.

 

It was disconcerting, considering the anger and brimstone display previously.

 

“You’re not lying,” Piccolo stated, when Goku was done.

 

Goku shook his head.

 

“You can’t be. This is the worst, most fucked up cover story, so it can’t be a lie. It _has_ to be the truth. Oh lord, help me,” Piccolo growled, covering his eyes.

 

“You know who I am?” Goku asked, again. It was not longer a hopeful question, but a fearful one.

 

“Yes, I know who you are.”

 

Goku didn’t feel happy or excited by that statement. Instead, he felt dread.

 

“Who am I?” Goku whispered.

 

Piccolo grimaced, then told him.

 

.

.

.

 


	10. Chapter 10

_At Krillin’s apartment…_

 

Goku stared back at the mirror and saw a stranger.

 

He started the day off so wonderfully… how did things go so wrong? Especially after saving that girl’s life, staying over at Krillin’s, the happy crew in the morning — it felt like life had started to settle and West City was welcoming him with open arms.

 

Apparently, he had been too optimistic.

 

The islanders’ warnings rang in his mind as he stared miserably at his reflection.

 

They’d forced him not only to cut his hair, but to dye it blond. If that wasn’t enough, they made him wear blue-green contacts. They said he had to look as _far_ from what he normally would, since he made the colossal mistake of showing his face to the public.

 

“I thought you were going to look ridiculous but...” he heard Krillin say off to the side, who was giving him a lopsided smile. “You look pretty good, bud.”

 

Goku knew his friend was just trying to cheer him up, but he didn’t care about looking good.

 

He felt a hand on the other side of him, and Goku nearly cried at the show of comfort from the stately older man, Captain Kami Namek. Kami reminded him a little bit of Grampy… so smart, so kind. He was the only reason why he agreed to all this.

 

“I know, son, it’s tough, but it’s for your own good,” Kami said, squeezing his shoulder.

 

“For fuck’s sake, is he going to cry? I can’t, I just _can’t!”_

 

Sgt. Piccolo—apparently Kami’s nephew—who Goku had the _displeasure_ of meeting much earlier in the day, was pacing behind them, his arms crossed, had spat the words out in disgust.

 

“Piccolo, please,” Kami said patiently. “He has done so much for us. The least we could do is provide him protection.”

 

“I still say this is a missed opportunity,” Piccolo grumbled. “They’re going to go looking for him. They know he’s alive now.”

 

“And we’ll wait when that happens. Mr. Seng has assured us he will keep us posted about any activity related to Mr. Korzen here,” Kami went on calmly, and Krillin nodded, a determined look on his face. “There are more ways we can take advantage of this, Piccolo, you know that. There’s going to be a bit of panic, I gather, and it might draw out Frieza…”

 

Kami turned, his hands clasping behind his back.

 

“We know certainly this will draw out the Prince.”

 

.

.

.

 

_At Chi-Chi’s house…_

 

 

Chi-Chi has just finished taking her son to the library and was just thinking about chores that late afternoon, when she remembered that Bulma had sent her several texts and messages. Bulma hadn’t yet responded. That was pretty unlike her, so Chi-Chi decided to give Bulma a call.

 

She tried to think about Bulma’s rotation schedule and wondered if she was at work, but she remembered that Bulma was supposed to be on the night shift so it would be too early.

 

Chi-Chi was about to hang up when she heard her answer.

 

“Hey, B, what’s up? You sounded a little weird last night. Everything okay?” Chi-Chi asked.

 

There was a beat of silence, then:

 

“I have your friend.”

 

Chi-Chi nearly dropped her phone, startled, not recognizing the smooth, deep voice on the other line.

 

“Wh-who is this?”

 

“It doesn’t matter. I’d like to make an _exchange_. Your friend for mine.”

 

“Wh-wh-what are you talking about? What have you done to Bulma?!” Chi-Chi shrieked, panicking. To her horror, she saw Gohan pad into the living room scared and curious as to why his mother was screaming in the middle of the day.

 

“Mama, are you o—”

 

“Go to your room, _now_ ,” Chi-Chi hissed, putting her hand over the receiver of her phone. Gohan’s eyes widened and he looked ready to cry, unused to his mother speaking to harshly toward him. Still, she couldn’t handle figuring out how to deal with her son while it sounded like something was happening to Bulma. She waved him off and tried to ignore her heart twinge as he ran sobbing to his room.

 

“Do you have company? Shall we continue this discussion another time?”

 

The voice on the line sounded sarcastic and droll. She walked to the bathroom, turning on the fan and hoping that would add some semblance of privacy and so that Gohan could not hear her panicked words.

 

“What do you want from Bulma? Is she all right? I want to speak to her! How do I know you have her?”

 

She heard some shuffling, what sounded like a door opening, and some _more_ rustling—

 

“ _You fucking prick! Let me go! I know nothing, okay?! I have no clue why you have—”_

 

Chi-Chi jumped when she heard a loud crack, what sounded like Bulma’s gasping in shock, and then some muffled sounds. Chi-Chi’s heart pounded in her ears.

 

“There. Happy?”

 

“What do you want from me?” Chi-Chi asked shakily.

 

“Like I said. An exchange. Your friend for mine.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“I think you do.”

 

Chi-Chi felt her eyes water. “No. I _don’t._ Spell it out.”

 

Dimly, she could hear some muffled noises in the back that sounded suspiciously like Bulma.

 

“You can have your airhead friend back if you deliver Kakarrot to me. Tonight.”

 

Chi-Chi’s veins ran cold.

 

“What…?” She could hardly believe her ears. Why would _she_ know anything about where Kakarrot was, let alone be able to deliver him to her?

 

“Your friend for Kakarrot. No cops, naturally, or your friend dies. I have eyes and ears at the force, so I _am_ going to hear about it. Bang bang. Easy enough for you to understand?”

 

“I…” Chi-Chi swallowed, shaking in fear. “I don’t know where he is…”

 

“Don’t play stupid.”

 

“I _don’t_ , I haven’t seen him in maybe… maybe five years?” Chi-Chi said honestly. “I don’t know what gave you the idea that I have him, but I don’t. Please let my friend go. This sounds like a huge misunderstanding—”

 

“I’ll text you in a few hours with a location. If you don’t show up at midnight, you might as well say good-bye to your friend now.”

 

The line went dead.

 

.

.

.

 

_At Krillin’s apartment…_

 

Goku was in a whirlwind of despair.

 

“ _My name is Kakarrot Korzen...”_

 

He pressed rewind on laptop’s video player.

 

“ _Hello, my name is Kakarrot Korzen. This—”_

 

Goku pressed rewind again, playing the opening of the video clip on the USB stick he’d given him. Under no circumstances was he to lose this stick, but Goku was allowed to review it for the day due to current circumstances. Tomorrow, Sgt. Piccolo was to retrieve it and put it in a safe deposit box for later retrieval, if necessary.

 

Goku had watched the whole video maybe a dozen times already, but the more he watched it, the more he fell into a deeper sense of helplessness.

 

Watching that small recording, seeing _himself_ , dressed so oddly in a formal, tailored suit, his hair much shorter and controlled with hair product, was one of the strangest experiences.

 

It was like watching an alien possession.

 

That wasn’t him, but it was.

 

It was his eyes, his nose, his mouth. It was his voice, though Kakarrot _drawled_ more than spoke, like everything was always on the verge of a joke. He sounded harsher, cynical.

 

Goku pressed rewind.

 

“ _Hello, my name is Kakarrot Korzen. This video will be proof that I am an undercover police officer for the Special Investigations Unit of the West City Police Department—”_

 

At first, Goku was _thrilled_ with learning that he was a cop — it meant he used to be someone employed to help and protect people. It sounded just like him! But once he learned what _type_ of cop he was, what being an undercover _meant…_

 

“— _under the direction of Captain Kami Namek and supervision of Sergeant Piccolo Namek. My mission is to infiltrate the Kold organized crime family—”_

 

No matter how much Kami tried to explain to him what “inside man” was, that sometimes bad things had to be done for the greater good, all Goku could hear was that he _purposely_ harmed people… that he _had_ to. Because in order to _pretend_ to be bad…

 

… he actually had to do bad things.

 

He clearly remembered Krillin’s face when they first played the video all together. His friend was _scared._ Hell, Goku was _terrified_ , and he barely understood all the implications of what was revealed to him.

 

When it was clear to Kami and Piccolo that he wasn’t faking his amnesia — and that he had no recollection of being a police officer or anything about his past life — they basically said that the only way he could _live_ was to put him under something called a “witness protection program.”

 

That they will need to move him to another city possibly.

 

Maybe even have another name.

 

The implication shook Goku.

 

Once again, he was adrift, like he was five years ago when he’d washed ashore on Papaya Island.

 

Once again, he was beholden to the kindness of strangers, one whose home he was kindly being allowed to stay in.

 

Once again, he was all alone.

 

.

.

.

 

_On the other side of West City…_

 

Chi-Chi somehow managed to calm her hysterical son down after her yelling at him in the middle of the most stressful phone conversation in her life. She immediately called Crayo, the mother of Gohan’s library pal Sharpener, to see if she could take Gohan for the day and maybe overnight as she had to deal with a “family emergency.”

 

Crayo was a stay-at-home mom, so the likelihood that she was available was high at a short notice. Chi-Chi was relieved when the young woman agreed. Gohan seemed ready to forgive her earlier yelling once he found out he was going to have a sleepover with one of his friends from reading time.

 

Once that was dealt with, Chi-Chi went back home to gather herself, but failed miserably. She was getting further distraught as she tried to figure out how to get herself out of this without involving the cops… or if she _could_ , who would be able to help? Bulma’s life was on the line!

 

Chi-Chi wondered if she should call either her father or Dr. Briefs. Both their fathers were rather powerful and had connections with law enforcement, but she was just so scared that Bulma’s kidnapper would find out and she would be dead before anyone could do anything.

 

Chi-Chi looked down at her phone, scrolling through Bulma’s last text messages.

 

After staring at them for the millionth time, willing it to send her some sort of clue, one thing stood out:

 

_Turn on the TV._

 

Chi-Chi’s eyes widened. Something _happened_ last night, something big enough to be on TV. The news?

 

She immediately grabbed her laptop and set it up on the kitchen, frantically typing in “eleven o’clock news” and “West City” as search strings. There were a few news clips, so she might as well view them all, see if anything stood out.

 

After a few clips, Chi-Chi was getting frustrated. All the news seemed rather normal to her, nothing out of place. Local elections, some sports team situation… she was currently watching news about the fire at the apartment complex that her team had to deal with. She was about to click the close icon from the popup window when she saw a flurry of activity that she had missed when she went back on her shift.

 

Chi-Chi’s hand went to her mouth in shock as the father of her son materialized on screen.

 

He… looked disheveled but oddly chipper, something that she would never label Kakarrot. He was babbling on about hearing someone cry for help and how he didn’t think twice about running in. The screen began to blur and she realized she was crying.

 

She rubbed her eyes hastily to re-focus. She was _sure_ this was the video that Bulma was referring to! It had to be.

 

“ _You were right. He’s back.”_

 

Chi-Chi swallowed as Jimmy Firecracker concluded the report, stating that “Goku” worked as a line cook at a place called Kame House Restaurant.

 

Chi-Chi couldn’t grab her car keys fast enough.

 

 

.

.

.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's see what Bulma and Vegeta are up to folks...
> 
> Warning: some drug use & V's a really really bad guy in this story (but note the tag: it's B/V... slow burn will be an understatement though). Dark elements but I'm not going to put our B through anything she can't handle.

_Somewhere in West City…_

 

 

Bulma struggled against her bindings as she catalogued everything she could in the room. She was good at getting herself laser-focused in stressful situations; it was why she was such a great ER doctor. Still, this was a level of stress that she never anticipated being in, and it was also hard for her to come to grips that it was her _own stupidity_ that got her there in the first place.

 

And Bulma Briefs wasn’t stupid.

  
Still, she tried not to beat herself up as the main focus was _escape_. She first had to get out of her bindings, then find a weapon — something! — and get out of the room, out of this _place,_ wherever it was, as fast as possible.

 

She stopped her wriggling when the door opened, and she forced herself to go through her yoga breathing exercises as her pulse skyrocketed when he entered. He had a glass of water with him and she met his gaze angrily and evenly as he paused by her feet.

 

She cursed the fact that she put herself in this predicament. She couldn’t believe she’d found this guy _attractive_ — he was a monster! He was dressed in head-to-toe black, a tailored suit, and it was an interesting sight compared to his gym attire. He looked even _more_ imposing, hiding his muscles, like a concealed weapon.

 

Her stomach roiled as he crouched down and she tried not to flinch, hoping he wasn’t going to slap her across the face like last time. She wished her legs weren’t bound so she could kick him straight in the balls.

 

“I’m going to untie you,” he said, surprising her.

 

She tried to speak, but it was hard with the gag across her mouth.

 

He gestured at her mouth with the glass. “You’re not as dumb as you look, _Dr._ Briefs.”

 

Bulma swallowed. He probably searched her wallet. So he knew who she was now.

 

“PhDs in biology and engineering, plus an MD,” he went on, tilting his head curiously. “And the heir of Capsule Corporation. You’re definitely worth more than Kakarrot. I may have to keep you longer than I expected.”

 

Bulma started to struggle against her bindings, screaming against her gag.

 

He shook his head at her futile attempts to protest and rail against him. She knew that she was helpless but she wasn’t going down without a fight. She wasn’t going to be used as a pawn against her family.

 

“So we’ve established you’re a smart woman. And I can already see those beady little eyes plotting a billion and one escape plans. I don’t have the patience to track you down and it’d be a shame to harm that gorgeous face of yours if I have to knock you out.”

 

Bulma’s eyes widened with fear at the matter-of-fact threat of violence.

 

“So, doctor, let’s make a deal,” he drawled. “You drink this, and I untie you.”

 

She looked down at the glass and back up at him, her mind racing.

 

He wanted to drug her.

 

Oh, hell to the _fuck no_.

 

She tried to say as much through the gag, and he laughed, clearly understanding her garbled words.

 

“Actually, I was just playing. There is no deal here. This is a dictatorship not a democracy,” he drawled lowly, his hand wrapping around her neck.

 

Despite herself, Bulma trembled, but she kept her gaze even with him. She hated him. She was going to get out of here if she had to kill him herself.

 

He lowered her gag and she immediately spat in his face. He seemed amused, his lips quirking, pulling out a handkerchief from a pocket to dab on his face.

 

“ _Fuck you,_ ” Bulma gasped, before clamping her mouth shut.

 

The hand on her throat forced her to tilt her head back, and his fingers pried her mouth open. She tried to bite him, but failed as it seemed he was used to forcing someone to ingest something against their will. She gagged as he poured the liquid down her throat. She tried to cough it up but he was too strong, clamping her mouth down and she was going to drown if she didn’t swallow, and to her shame, she did, she swallowed, the suspicious liquid going down her throat.

 

Tears pricked her eyes, but she tried to hold it together.

 

She wasn’t going to give in.

 

She was going to fight with all she had.

 

“There, there,” he said flatly, in a mocking attempt of comfort.

 

“Go to hell…” she slurred, blinking as the effects of what he gave her started to rapidly take effect. What’d he give her? Benzos? But something that spiked the efficacy? Her limbs felt heavy and her mind felt woozy, like cotton balls were suddenly stuffed in between all the crevices of her brain.

 

“Hm,” he said, taking her chin, and tilting her face to examine her clinically. He rubbed his thumb across her lips almost meditatively, then used his handkerchief—silk, she could tell—to wipe the spit up from her face. He put the handkerchief back into his pocket as he stood up. She could clearly see an embroidered insignia that resembled a trident against the white silk fabric. It was stark against the black of his suit, a brand name that she didn’t recognize…

 

She saw him flick his left wrist to check his Chopard, clearly waiting for the drugs to take full effect.

 

 _Good taste in watches,_ Bulma thought dimly. _Too bad about the psychopathy…_

 

After a couple silent minutes, he tilted her head back, his fingers gently examining her eyes. She dimly thought he was doing a pretty good inspection, usually what she would do herself to determine a patient’s lucidity… He snapped a few fingers in front of her before nodding and grunting in satisfaction.

 

She was hardly aware when her hands were released from her bindings, and then her legs, and she tried to concentrate, to run away. She had to run, she had to try.

 

But all she managed was to almost collapse onto the ground before he caught her in his arms, dragged her up against him to barely stand.

 

“Huh, don’t know if it’s stupid or admirable that you’re still trying to fight this,” he rumbled, pressing her against him.

 

“D-don’t…” she mumbled, a zip of fright coursing through her.

 

“Relax, I’m not interested in you like that,” he drawled. “Besides, I want a woman to be a hundred percent present when we fuck.”

 

She shivered at his blunt words, and then the ground disappeared as he lifted her up in his arms.

 

“Wh-where…?” she managed.

 

“Somewhere else,” he said in a clipped tone. “Stop asking questions.”  


 

Bulma tried to keep her eyes open, to feverishly catalogue where he was taking her, but all she could gather was impressions of a hallway, that it was some sort of _commercial_ building.

 

“You’re still trying to figure where you’re at, aren’t you?” he rumbled above her, sounding amused. He was still walking and talking as if he wasn’t carrying a whole human in his arms, not even close to sounding breathless.

 

“What I’m curious to know is what you’d do once you found out? Would you try to subdue me with what puny strength you have? Find a weapon? Or figure out where my stash of drugs are so you can do to me what I did to you? “

 

He shouldered through a door and Bulma realized they were outside now, but it still didn’t seem distinct. Still, she could posit they were at the warehouse district somewhere…

 

“Or, how about the predictable—you’re going to pretend you’re not at all traumatized, despite every reason to be… and go through some convoluted seduction routine.” He bobbed his head at his monologue, every single word slicing into Bulma as he ran through every scenario that she, herself, had considered in her brief captivity.

 

“The problem with that scenario is I have excellent control. I prefer to use my brain more than any other organ. I think that’s where you and I are quite alike, doctor. Even now, you’re probably thinking, okay, how to outsmart this monster? Is it his ego? He seems full of himself.”

 

He laughed at his self-created conversation, and Bulma clenched her fists but was helpless to do anything but lie limply in his arms.

 

He set her down finally to her feet, and she wobbled, clinging to him helplessly. He was reaching into his pocket, and she realized it was for the keys to unlock the vehicle they were in front. A navy SUV—a Range Rover—with tinted windows, easy to hide a body…

 

She made an attempt to bat at his hand, but he simply lifted his own and pressed a button to unlock the door.

 

“All right, in you go,” he said, hauling her onto the back passenger seats.

 

“No,” she protested. He ignored her and strapped her into the seat securely. He patted her knee in a patronizing manner.

 

“Now this will go much easier if you just do as I say. Contrary to what you may be thinking, I actually don’t feel like killing you. It’s not in my best interest.”

 

He was speaking matter-of-factly, squeezing her knee. “ _E_ _specially_ when your powerful father will probably do anything to save you. But a _lot_ of things can happen between now and death. I can hurt you. Badly.”

 

He was still speaking in an even tone that chilled her to the bone. Like describing the weather.

 

“P-prick...” she bit out.

 

“Still a bit of fight, I like it,” he said calmly. “Would you still be that way when I take your friend’s son?”

 

Bone-deep fear clenched around Bulma’s heart.

 

“Ah, there you go. _Predictable.”_ He almost sounded disappointed in her and she wanted to so badly launch herself at him and scratch his eyes out.

 

“You have that stubborn look to you. I admire it. I see that you’re the type to go down fighting. I admire that, too. But, you also don’t have the leeway to sacrifice a child.”

 

He tilted his head, then took her chin to force her to look at him dead on.

 

“I do _my research,_ Dr. Briefs. I need to know every angle. He’s Kakarrot’s son, isn’t he?”

 

Tears finally broke through and streaked down her cheeks.

 

“Oh, don’t be upset. You gave me a gift with this entire scenario, so I’m feeling generous,” her captor said smoothly, eyeing her tears with fascination. “Two birds, one stone and all that. I’ll try very hard not to hurt you or the boy as long as you co-operate.”

 

His expression was a mocking display of care. She wanted to punch him in the face.

 

“You get to go home, your friend and her boy will be fine. Though, I can’t give you the same promise for Kakarrot, but that’s okay—your friend shouldn’t be associating herself with scum anyway. I’m doing you all a favor, actually.”

 

He patted her wet cheek this time, his smile unkind.

 

“Cheer up. Good talk.”

 

Though she started all of this without tears, try as she might, Bulma could not stop crying.

 

.

.

.


	12. Chapter 12

When Chi-Chi parked at Kame House Restaurant, she thought about all the times she’d driven by. She was now convinced that the flash she saw a few weeks ago _had_ to have been Kakarrot. It would make sense… the bars were close to the restaurant after all.

 

A curly haired blonde welcomed her at the front.

 

“Hello! For how many?” the hostess asked. Chi-Chi scanned the room frantically. She couldn’t see him.

 

“Actually, I need to see Kakarrot. It’s an emergency,” Chi-Chi said, getting straight to the point. There was no time to waste!

 

The blonde blinked at her. “Who?”

 

Oh, right. He called himself—

 

“I mean, ‘Goku.’”

 

“Look, lady, you’re not the only crazed woman who’s come here asking for Goku,” the hostess — her name tag said “Launch” — drawled, her friendly demeanor disappearing. “If you’re here for food, you can stay. Otherwise, buzz off. Goku isn’t a public peep show.”

 

Chi-Chi grit her teeth and took a couple calming breaths. This woman was so rude!

 

“Is he here or not?” Chi-Chi asked stiffly, still scanning behind the blonde.

 

Launch narrowed her eyes. “He’s not— hey, where are you—!?”

 

Chi-Chi made a beeline to what looked to be the doors to the kitchen. She had _no_ time to argue with hostesses. She called his name, startling the poor kitchen crew. She didn’t have the luxury to feel embarrassed or shy—she _had_ to find him, talk to him…

 

A short man with a bandana burst out of a closet, his gaze bouncing between his bewildered crew and her shouting self. Launch had appeared behind her and was trying to currently pull her away, but Chi-Chi held firm, refusing to leave.

 

“What’s going on?!” the short man exclaimed.

 

“One of Goku’s crazed fan girls—”

 

“I _need_ to see Kakarrot—”

 

The short man waved his hands. “Shh, shh, you’re both scaring the customers, please!”

 

“I’ll get rid of her. Sorry, boss,” Launch said, tugging at her arm.

 

Chi-Chi resisted and grasped at the shorter man, desperately. “ _Please_ , it’s an emergency. I need to find Kakarrot. I need to speak to him!”

 

At that, the bandana man’s eyes widened. “Did you just call him Kakarrot?”

 

“Yes, please, I need to see him,” Chi-Chi nodded vigorously.

 

“Argh, c’mon _bitch_ ,” Launch growled, pulling at her. But Chi-Chi was rather strong and still managed to resist being pulled away.

 

“No, no, Launch, drop her, I want to talk to her,” the short man interjected.

 

“But _Krillin_ —”

 

“Launch, it’s fine. I can escort her out myself, if needed,” the man — Krillin? — said, to Chi-Chi’s relief. The woman behind her huffed but dropped her arm. She heard the blonde grumble under her breath but left her alone.

 

The short man gazed at her with a mixture of concern and curiosity. “Okay, why don’t we step into my office and we can talk a little. I’m Krillin. And you are?”

 

“Chi-Chi,” she said, nodding. “Chi-Chi Mau.”

 

She followed him to the back of the kitchen and into what looked like a small utility closet fashioned with a desk. As she eyed the man she realized that she was looking at Kakarrot’s companion from the fire.

 

“Were you the one who saved the dog?” Chi-Chi asked.

 

His cheeks reddened. “Yes, that was me.”

 

“That was very brave of you,” Chi-Chi said sincerely, as she sat on the folded chair.

 

“Uh, thanks. So, what’s this about Goku—er, Kakarrot?” Krillin asked. Chi-Chi was happy he got straight to the point.

 

“He’s not here right now, but will he be soon? I need to speak to him urgently,” Chi-Chi said, trying to keep the panic out of her voice.

 

“What’s going on?”

 

Chi-Chi bit her lip agitatedly. She wasn’t sure how much she should disclose. It was such a scary situation and she wanted badly to speak to the police, but she was scared about whether the man on the phone would follow through with his threat.

 

“I can’t say. I need to speak to Kakarrot directly about it,” she said.

 

“How do you know Kakarrot?” Krillin asked, his eyes narrowing.

 

“Look, why are you asking all these questions?” Chi-Chi asked impatiently. “I have some private business to discuss.”

 

“Well, I’m not about to disclose any whereabouts or contact information of my friends or employees to a random stranger, sorry,” Krillin drawled, crossing his arms and raising his brows. “And frankly, if you know Goku as _Kakarrot_ , that already puts you on the iffy list.”

 

Chi-Chi flushed. He had a point.

 

She was getting desperate.

 

“I’m… please, what can I do to get a hold of him? I don’t have much time,” Chi-Chi pleaded. Krillin’s face remained impassive. She waved her hand, an idea popping in her head. “Even just a phone call. Why don’t you phone him and tell him _Chi-Chi_ is here?”

 

She _hoped_ that would be enough for him to stop by or at least speak to her. Even though he had been the one to end things between them.

 

Krillin shifted in his seat. “Um, I don’t think that will work. He won’t— anyway, never mind. Why don’t you tell me the emergency and I can talk to him about it—”

 

Chi-Chi banged her table in frustration, startling the short man. “I need to talk to him _privately_ —”

 

“Sorry, this is really odd and I’m not about to share my friend’s details just because _you_ say—”

 

Chi-Chi’s mind raced to find a way to get through Krillin, to let him know a legitimate reason for her to urgently contact Kakarrot.

 

“I want to tell him about his son,” Chi-Chi blurted out impulsively.

 

His jaw hung low. “Excuse me?”

 

She took out her smartphone with shaking hands, waist deep in this confession. She didn’t mean to blurt the truth out like that to a relative _stranger_ no less, but it was sort of true. It could be a legitimate reason to reach out to him so urgently after all this time..

 

“When we broke up around five years ago, he didn’t know I was pregnant,” she said honestly, her voice heavy. “I never stayed over at his place so I didn’t know where he lived.”

 

Chi-Chi’s cheeks warmed in embarrassment as she relayed the truth. Saying it out loud like that made her seem like some sort of casual thing… which she supposed was painfully true on his side. Krillin was staring at her like she’d sprouted another head and started dancing a jig.

 

She barreled on: “I couldn’t contact him to let him know, he changed his number… then I saw him on TV last night. So you can see why I need to see him right away, to let him know.”

 

Part of that was right. She _never_ had his cell. He’d always contacted _her_ from an unlisted number.

 

Chi-Chi gnawed on her lip and watched at Krillin stared at her, stunned. She glanced down at her smartphone and drew up the photo she tried not to stare at too often of Gohan. While her boy favored her looks more, when he flashed a lopsided grin, he was a spitting image of his father.

 

She quietly shared the photo with Krillin.

 

“See? It’s a private matter,” she added softly, as the man slowly took off his bandana from his head in shock. He stared at the photo and then back up at her, then back down at the photo.

 

Krillin shook his head and she thought she heard him mutter something about “Goku” and “non-stop drama” while rubbing his face. After a few moments, he sighed heavily and lifted his hand.

 

“Okay, can you give me a second? I’m going to give him a call. Stay here,” he said, getting up from the chair.

 

Chi-Chi’s heart raced at Krillin’s statement. She nodded gratefully.

 

He left the room, leaving Chi-Chi alone to fidget in her seat.

 

Since the kitchen was in full swing for lunch time with all the din related to that, plus the door to the office was firmly closed, she didn’t catch any point of Krillin’s call:

 

“Hi, Sgt. Piccolo? I think you need to come to the restaurant right away...”

 

.

.

.

 

_Somewhere in West City..._

 

Bulma was slowly starting to feel like herself, the cloud around her mind lifting as her limbs started to feel normal again. She stayed perfectly limp, trying to make sure that her captor was none the wiser. It took a lot of self discipline not to simply lash out… but she had to make sure the timing was right. She had to make sure she could successfully retrieve the gun from the concealed holster on his side, that she observed and brushed against when he had half-dragged, half-carried her when she first collapsed against him drugged.

 

He thought he was _so_ clever. The amount she’d spit up clearly meant that she didn’t take enough of whatever horrible cocktail he’d put together and frankly, she had a _wild_ youth—what else did a rich, young, bored girl with genius level intelligence do? Her tolerance for drugs were higher than a normal person. Did _that_ come up in his stupid “research”?

 

He’d driven them to the docks, and was currently carrying her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes toward a shipping container. She had no clue what he planned to do. He had assured her that he wasn’t planning to off her, but he could be lying. She only knew that she had to escape and that she had to be ready when the opportunity came.

 

The bastard had been _whistling_ some upbeat song the entire time he carried her to a random shipping container he had access to. She was sure he was doing it to irritate her, how casual he was taking all of this, so confident he had the upper hand…

 

“All right, here we are,” he said, squatting to place her on the floor of the container.

 

Bulma decided it was time to strike: he was in an odd position, his arms literally letting her go. She came to life and made a grab for his gun.

 

He was _fast_ , grabbing her wrist the moment she moved, but some deity out there favored Bulma since she managed to grab the gun’s handle and her “puny” strength was actually substantial. She lifted people onto beds on a regular basis after all.

 

Adrenaline pumped through her as his hand gripped her wrist. She pulled the trigger while he tried to tug her hand to drop the gun. They both cursed for different reasons: she only tightened her hold on the gun and for her, she realized the safety was still on.

 

She let out a guttural scream and kicked him, the leverage allowing her to launch herself away from him, with the gun in her hand.

 

“On your knees _motherfucker!”_ Bulma shrieked, scrambling to her feet as she pointed the gun toward him.

 

“Why don’t we all calm—”

 

Bulma quickly took off the safety, cocked and shot the gun right behind him, embedding the bullet on the wall right behind his head. She saw his eyes widen slightly as he got to a kneeling position, realizing she actually _knew_ how to shoot.

 

Fucking asshole. He _didn’t_ do all his research.

 

Before Bulma pursued her MD and settled into being an ER doctor, she worked under her father’s engineering wing… specifically his weapons manufacturing sector. The first gun she shot was at the tender age of twelve.

 

“Hands behind your head,” Bulma shouted, and she was confused to see him do just that and flash her what looked to be a delighted grin!

 

He was _unhinged!_

 

“You just made my day even more interesting,” he said calmly.

 

“Shut the fuck up or I’ll shoot.”

 

“You’re not a killer.”

 

She shot the ground beside him.

 

He didn’t even flinch.

 

What the _fuck?!_ Bulma thought with horror, adrenaline pumping through her.

 

“I want you to throw the keys that got you in here to me _right now_ ,” Bulma went on, already slowly stepping backward to the wide open doors. He reached into his pocket—

 

“ _Slowly,_ asshole,” Bulma hissed. He inclined his head, his lips twitching.

 

He kept one hand up, while he reached down with his left hand—slowly, as she asked—into his left pocket. He lifted the keys he had in his hand and jingled it.

 

“Throw it to me right now,” Bulma ordered, her gun still pointed at him.

 

“With pleasure,” he said and he launched the keys toward her.

 

It was then she realized her folly.

 

The moment he threw the keys, she was distracted enough to look at the flying keys to give him time to lunge at her from the ground.

 

She cried out and tried to shoot him, but he managed to catch her ankle from the ground, causing her to stumble and completely miss. With what seemed to be superhuman strength, he pulled her down to join him on the floor, scrambling on top to try to grab the gun from her hand.

 

She struggled mightily, but he was just too strong. He banged her hand on the ground, and she cried out in pain, her fingers loosening just enough for him to wrench his P30L from her hands. She kicked and screamed, trying to escape and hurt him in the process.

 

He got to his feet and wrenched her to her own, pinning one arm on her side, while the other arm twisted behind her back painfully. She felt the warm gun’s point press against her ribs as she struggled against her captor’s form. She nearly sobbed in disappointment and defeat, but she managed to grit her teeth together to prevent any sound to escape.

 

“Good show,” he rasped. She feel his breath hot against her neck, for the first time the puffs sounding erratic. She’d managed to unsettle him. “Next time don’t hit the floor: try two in the chest, one in the head.”

 

To her horror, he licked her neck, causing her to shudder in revulsion before he pushed her roughly to the ground.

 

She looked up at him with burning anger as he pointed his gun at her. He was flashing his canines widely, a rather wolfish grin, while his tongue licked the top row of his teeth. She’d seen that look on many men when they gazed at her, and she recognized it now.

 

She wanted to wretch. He was _sick_.

 

“If I knew you were this interesting, I wouldn’t have ignored all your stupid come-ons at the gym,” he said in a sing-song voice. He continued to step back, almost outside the shipping container. “Maybe when all this is over, hm?”

 

“I’d take pleasure in cutting off your dick!” she shrieked.

 

He threw his head back and laughed.

 

“Until next time, Dr. Briefs. All this will be over soon,” he practically crooned.

 

Then he slammed the shipping container shut, plunging Bulma in darkness.

 

.

.

.


	13. Chapter 13

_At the precinct…_

 

When Krillin showed up at the apartment while the restaurant was dealing with a lunch rush, Goku knew it must be important for him to be pulled away. Krillin was acting really odd, glancing at him several times… all Goku could get out of him was that someone from his past showed up at the restaurant and something _big_ was going on.

 

Something about Piccolo and Kami’s prediction about the Prince coming to fruition sooner than expected. Then Krillin added there was also girl drama, but Krillin refused to say what that meant.

 

Goku was in over his head so he just let himself be carted away.

 

There was a back entrance to the police station, bypassing all regular screenings and protocols, which was only used for discreet transfer of protected individuals, of which Goku apparently was a part. Piccolo was waiting by that entrance and Krillin was soundly dismissed.

 

“What’s going on?” Goku asked hesitantly.

 

He wasn’t actually sure he wanted to know. His mind was already whirling with what he was just discovering about himself, the entire mess he was in… it was _worse_ than Grampy and the islanders ever could have imagined.

 

Still, Grampy taught him to face life head-on.

 

It was all he could do, anyway.

 

“Come here,” Piccolo said tersely, leading Goku to a dark room with a giant window.

 

On the other side was a young lady.

 

She was sitting ramrod straight, her chin high as she stared silently at the door. She had an elegant profile, but she was pale, clearly shaken by something. She didn’t seem to notice them enter their room, so Goku surmised that the window was one-way.

 

“Who is she?” Goku asked, swallowing nervously.

 

“Chi-Chi Mau,” Piccolo said, pushing a folder toward him at a side table he hadn’t noticed. “Ring any bells?”

 

Goku furrowed his brows, concentrating on the stiff woman’s features. Something teased the edge of his consciousness, fluttering just beneath the surface, as he regarded the smooth jet-black hair cascading down her shoulders. It billowed fetchingly around the gentle curve of her rosy cheeks. He followed his gaze down her slim yet curvy length in sweater and jeans, _will_ _ing_ himself to remember…

 

… but nothing.

 

“No,” he said with disappointment. He opened up the folder and saw what looked to be a printed dossier.

 

“She’s the daughter of Ox Mau, also known as The Ox King. Any of _that_ rattle in that messed up brain of yours?” Piccolo asked, an edge of impatience entering his tone.

 

Goku locked his jaw. He didn’t appreciate Piccolo’s judgmental tone.

 

“No. I have amnesia, remember?”

 

Piccolo scoffed and crossed his arms.

 

“Well, she’s from your hometown,” Piccolo revealed as Goku scanned the contents of the folder, which seemed pretty basic. It had her birthdate and some address information, her resume—she was a nurse—just general things that people could probably find from an employer or some such.

 

“So I know her?” Goku asked, wanting confirmation, and was shocked to hear Piccolo laugh — though it was sort of a half-snort.

 

“Apparently. What we’re trying to figure out right now is how well,” Piccolo said, angling him an odd glance. “If she’s telling the truth. But pretty hard when it’s clear you have no clue who she is.”

 

“What’s she saying?” Goku asked, as he flipped through the folder.

 

A picture of a giant of a man with a similar dossier, different address — Fire Mountain? — was attached. That looked to be her dad, the Ox guy Piccolo mentioned. What was interesting was there seemed to be a small criminal _rap sheet_ also attached to the Ox profile, though the dates seemed much much long ago.

 

He continued to flip: A picture of a small boy seemed to be attached to another dossier — oh wow, his name was _Gohan?_ How cool was that? — birthdate, address. Her son? He looked like the girl on the other side of the window... The kid was a cutie. A small smile tugged at Goku’s mouth as he regarded the child’s photo, before closing the folder, finding nothing more after that.

 

“Ah, where to begin,” Piccolo drawled, confusing Goku. “She says she’s known you a long time, that… you two were _involved.”_

 

Goku stared at Piccolo blankly. What did _that_ mean?

 

“Oh for fuck’s sake, you brain damaged idiot,” Piccolo barked when he realized Goku had no clue what he was talking about. Goku bristled. He was getting sick and tired of being called stupid just because he had no memory. It wasn’t like he bashed his head in on purpose! He wasn’t _stupid_ , he was just clueless… there was a difference!

 

“How do we—”

 

“She says she’s your _ex-girlfriend_ , Korzen. Is that clear enough for you?”

 

Goku wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but that wasn’t it. The concept of him having a _girlfriend_ was so odd! It reminded him of the uncomfortable conversation with the crew at Kame House Restaurant. He supposed objectively that it was _possible_ … he just couldn’t see himself entering in any relationship like that.

 

He glanced at the woman through the window, and acknowledged that the woman on the other side of the window _was_ exceptionally beautiful. She had a warm aura about her. And the line of her neck _was_ rather lovely, creamy and slim—

 

—Goku blinked and flushed, confused. He never regarded women that intensely before or noticed anything like how unblemished her skin was, except for that tiny mole above her collar bone—

 

There he went again!

 

He shook his head, trying to clear it.

 

“I guess,” Goku said finally, when Piccolo’s brows raised at the changing expressions on his face.

 

“Okay, so here’s what we’re going to do. She’s been saying a few wild things. I want you to go in there and pretend you remember her,” Piccolo said.

 

Goku frowned, hating that he was being asked to lie, but nodded.

 

“Try to say as _little_ as possible, but ask her why she wants to talk to you. Let’s see if she slips up. Then you are going to come back in here and we’ll figure out whether any of it makes sense. A few things already check out, but with your little TV stunt—maybe she works for Frieza.”

 

Goku highly doubted that, and he was a little surprised as to why he immediately came to that conclusion. He didn’t know this woman, but she seemed so innocent…

 

“Okay,” Goku said finally.

 

“Yeah? You ready? Don’t fuck this up,” Piccolo asked, pointing to the door to the side of the window. “I’m going to be here watching it all.”

 

Goku _wasn’t_ ready, but he had no choice. He suddenly felt very nervous.

 

He sighed and opened the door.

 

.

.

.

 

It was crazy, Chi-Chi thought hazily, how easily five years could melt away.

 

When the door to the interrogation room opened, she expected Sgt. Piccolo with updates, so she was completely unprepared for _him_ to stride through the threshold.

 

And just like that, Chi-Chi was undone.

 

All the walls she’d put up, the illusion about how much she had moved on, that she deserved _better_ , that maybe she _hadn’t_ loved him after all, that it was all a passionate, but meaningless affair in the end…

 

… it all disappeared the moment their eyes connected.

 

Teal eyes, but still _his_ gaze.

 

Piccolo explained earlier that Kakarrot would be in disguise, to protect him from the TV appearance and allow him a way to navigate in public as inconspicuously as possible.

 

But in what world was Kakarrot Korzen inconspicuous?

 

He practically glowed, which was only emphasized by his newly blond locks and golden skin. How could anyone ignore him? The years had been exceedingly kind… like a fine wine, age only seemed to improve his looks.

 

She found herself shakily getting to her feet. What was the protocol when greeting sexy exes? A handshake? Should they _hu_ _g?_

 

Over the past five years, Chi-Chi had mulled over various scenarios of a possible reunion with Kakarrot. When she was feeling melancholy and romantic, it involved running into each others arms like they do in the movies, where he confessed how much he missed her. When she was feeling angry and frustrated, it involved throwing whiskey all over his face, because for whatever reason he was always drinking whiskey in her dreams.

 

But now the reality was here, she found herself speechless.

 

Like her, he seemed to be waiting for her to say something first. The silence became unbearable, her insides clenching, so she said the first thing that came to mind:

 

“Nice hair,” she blurted out, then cringed internally.

 

 _Nice hair?!_ Chi-Chi cursed herself for the first words out of her mouth to her ex-lover in five years. _That_ was what she came up with?!

 

He blinked in response, his hand ruffling said strands, further making his locks look more sexy and disheveled.

 

Oh god, he looked good. So _so_ good… her throat immediately went dry.

 

“Thanks,” he said, slowly making his way to the table. He sat down at the chair in front of her, and she felt stupid for standing in the first place. Okay. No hug. No handshake. She flopped back onto her seat.

 

All right.

 

Sitting in front of each other like strangers it was, then.

 

Her heart was thudding so hard, she could swear he could hear it. He was staring at her strangely, and she wanted the ground to swallow her up. He’d always been able to read her like a book. He probably could tell she _still…_

 

“How are you?” he greeted, sounding so polite, so… impersonal. There was no warmth in his eyes, only a sense of resignation.

 

Chi-Chi swallowed the hurt that bubbled up at his distant tone and gaze, covering it up with nervous laughter. What had she expected? For him to run up and grab her? Tell her he’d made a big mistake, that he should have never left her?

 

He seemed confused at her reaction.

 

“How do you think I am?” Chi-Chi managed, frustration dripping from her tone. “My best friend’s been kidnapped by someone you know.”

 

He shifted a little in his seat, his lips twisting briefly to the side. He was uncomfortable.

 

 _Good_.

 

“Start from the beginning, please.”

 

He sounded so cold...

 

“I already told Sgt. Piccolo,” she said, angling a look at the two-way mirror. She knew the imposing man was behind that screen.

 

“I want to hear it from you.”

 

Chi-Chi took a calming breath, shaking her head. She had done nothing wrong and she was being treated like some second-class citizen, like some kind of _felon._ She couldn’t believe that Kakarrot was sitting in front of her right now asking her questions like this.

 

“Last night, Bulma sent me a bunch of weird texts and calls. I think it was related to your TV appearance but I didn’t understand at the time...When I got back to her this afternoon, someone else answered the phone. Said that he wanted an exchange. _You_ for Bulma.”

 

Kakarrot winced slightly. Chi-Chi went on:

 

“He was under the _wrong_ impression that you and I were… still together, I think…”

 

He shifted in his seat again, looking even more uncomfortable. It raised Chi-Chi’s hackles. Was the thought of being with her _that_ unappealing? He was the one who broke it off, after all…

 

“I don’t know why, it’s not like we’ve kept in touch these past five years,” Chi-Chi added quickly, trying to school her features neutrally. “It’s not like I was _really_ your girlfriend or anything back then.”

 

At that, his eyes widened fractionally, but he said nothing, simply nodding.

 

“I told the guy on the phone as much, but he said he’d give me instructions of a location later. Then he said if I didn’t show up with you by midnight he… he was going to kill Bulma.”

 

That last part came out as a half-sob as the reality of the situation became more stark.

 

Kakarrot raised his hand and covered his mouth, simply nodding again.

 

“I had no idea _what_ to do… I had _no_ idea how to contact you. Then I saw that TV clip and you said you worked at Kame House Restaurant. I went there and spoke to your boss, the guy who saved the dog… and then he called Sgt. Piccolo. And here I am.”

 

“Why didn’t you go to the police _immediately_ instead of the restaurant?!” He dropped his hand from his mouth, and sounded mildly accusatory.

 

“Excuse me?” Chi-Chi exclaimed in disbelief. “ _You_ of all people asking me why I didn’t go to the _cops?_ I didn’t even know _you_ were a cop until an _hour_ ago! The only reason I’m _here_ is because Sgt. Piccolo convinced me that you worked for him and that only you two will be involved!”

 

“Wait, wait, wait,” he broke in, shaking his head. “You thought I was a _convict_ and you still got involved with me? _”_

 

Chi-Chi’s jaw dropped. _What the hell…?_

 

He cleared his throat, his cheeks flushing, and he broke their eye contact as he shifted in his seat.

 

“What’s wrong with you?” Chi-Chi gasped.

 

“Um, never mind. Anything else you want to tell me?”

 

She swallowed, blinking rapidly. She’d told Krillin about Gohan as an attempt to get _directly_ to Goku, and only out of desperation… Piccolo had _wrenched_ the information out of her when he’d confronted her at the restaurant, scaring her by brandishing his badge and threatening to arrest her for mischief.

 

Piccolo had glared at her like she was some sort of jezebel.

 

Chi-Chi’s insides roiled. She wasn’t going to tell Kakarrot about his son in these circumstances, while some weirdo watched over them through a one-way window. She only hoped that the sergeant had the decency to keep the news to himself; she’d begged him for the opportunity to tell Kakarrot herself in due time.There were more important things to discuss.

 

“No,” she said.

 

He sighed, angling her a frustrated look. “I’m going to talk to Sgt. Piccolo. Stay here.”

 

“Where am I going to go?” Chi-Chi asked incredulously.

 

He made a random hand gesture. “Just… stay.”

 

Chi-Chi frowned, feeling like some sort of stray dog he was trying to get to heel. She crossed her arms and slouched in the chair, furious. She was angry at the situation, angry at _him_ …

 

Most of all, angry at herself.

 

As he closed the door behind him, Chi-Chi buried her face in her hands and cried.

 

.

.

.


	14. Chapter 14

_At the docks somewhere..._

 

Eventually, Bulma’s eyes managed to adjust in the dark, but it was still dim and the air was stale inside this container. She needed to get out of here! She’d managed to blindly make her way to what seemed to be the front of the shipping container. She could feel the latches, but they were firmly shut.

 

So she went the old fashioned route.

 

She started to yell and scream and bang against the door, hoping someone would hear her.

 

Abruptly, the container flooded with light, a crackling overhead.

 

“Stop screaming, there’s no point,” she heard her captor’s disembodied voice somewhere. A speaker?! She raised her head and she saw a distinct red light, and she knew she was being watched.

 

“I’m going to do whatever the hell I want you disgusting piece of shit!” Bulma screamed, flashing the camera with her middle fingers.

 

“You’re just going to tire yourself out.” His voice echoed in the emptiness of the container.

 

“I need to go to the bathroom,” she said, going for an obvious way to leave.

 

“So after your little stunt,” he began, clearly ignoring her. “I realized I had more gaps to fill in my research. You worked at Capsule Corp’s weapons manufacturing division and then you abruptly quit. Why?”

 

“None of your fucking business,” she spat.

 

“Come on, there’s nothing else you’re going to do for the next couple hours,” he said.

 

“What time is it?” she asked.

 

“Your name is on a few patents,” he went on, ignoring her again. “I just finished reading one of your published papers. I’m particularly interested in your interest on alternative energy sources for weaponry. Real sci-fi stuff here. Any of them ready for prime time?”

 

“I destroyed all the plans, so it’ll _never_ be ready,” she said, crossing her arms triumphantly.

 

There was a brief silence.

 

“You destroyed your life’s work because…?”

 

“You’re the clever one. I’m an ER doctor now. It’s an easy enough line to draw,” she said heavily. “Or are human motivations and emotions too far beyond your _vast_ intellect?”

 

Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

 

“Guilty conscience. What’d you _think_ you were building all those years?”

 

“Cool tech,” she said, feeling highly defensive. She’d been _so_ naive… she was just so fascinated by the physics and challenge of it all that she pushed back the reasons for their use.

 

“Felt like you were going to be the next Oppenheimer, hm?”

 

She knew he thought he was being hyperbolic with the comparison, but when she realized her genius could seriously be weaponized and used against others, she turned off that part of her for good. The ER was plenty interesting, and she kept her mind busy with research papers and finding ways they could improve health tech.

 

She said nothing, keeping her arms crossed as she tapped her foot.

 

“Interesting,” he said.

 

She angled her head at the speaker. He actually _sounded_ interested.

 

What a weirdo…

 

“Hey, I still have a prototype of the last weapon I worked on back home. You let me out, I can mail it to some random location with a mountain of cash and we can forget all of this,” Bulma said, waving her hands. The prototype was basically a toy, totally harmless, but he seemed fascinated by the tech…

 

“You can have it,” she offered.

 

She heard him chuckle. “Right.”

 

Bulma put her hand on her chest. “I swear. A cool million and a priceless piece of tech.”

 

“I live in the real world, not in whatever fantasy land you think you’re in right now.”

 

“Dammit, Kakarrot isn’t worth all this shit. He’s a tool,” Bulma spat, meaning it. The man nearly destroyed her best friend _and_ left her a single parent!

 

Her captor burst out laughing. “You’re right there.”

 

“Seriously. Whoever you’re working for, I will _double_ your—”

 

“This isn’t about money, woman. I’m working alone,” he said, sounding hard for the first time, his calm tone cracking under the weight of his anger. “This is personal.”

 

Bulma banged the shipping container’s door in frustration. “Can’t you two dicks just deal with it then without me or Chi-Chi?”

 

“Apparently not,” he said.

 

“I’m going to give you one last chance,” Bulma said finally.

 

“ _You’re_ giving me…?”

 

“You let me out now, and we can let bygones be bygones.”

 

She slowly walked toward the red light of the camera and gave it the best glare she could give.

 

“But if you keep me holed up here and I get out, I’m not going to stop until I fucking _destroy_ you. I’m _smarter_ than you. I’m _better_ than you. When I’m done, you’d _wish_ you were dead.”

 

The silence was so long that she thought he’d gotten bored and ignored her little rush of bravado. Because that’s what it was. She knew he could shoot her right now and it would all be over. But she was going down fighting. And if by some miracle she _did_ get out of all of this unscathed she _would_ fulfill her promise.

 

Finally, she heard the crackle of the speaker once more:

 

“I look forward to the chase, Dr. Briefs.”

 

Then she was plunged into darkness once more.

 

.

.

.

 

_At the precinct..._

 

They were at least now in a comfortable, private office instead of the stark blankness of the interrogation room. An older gentleman, revealed to her as Captain Kami, the head of the Special Investigations Unit running the covert operation on Frieza, had joined them.

 

Piccolo relayed the past couple hours to the man, who looked grave and serious, but had a gentle, calming presence around him… a definite contrast to Piccolo. In that time, she realized with a start that Piccolo was Gohan’s martial arts teacher—the one her father wanted to set her up with.

 

Chi-Chi thought moving to the big city would mean certain anonymity, but even West City could be quite small. Piccolo wouldn’t recognize her since she’d only glanced at him when she’d first dropped her son off for martial arts class; her father usually dropped Gohan off these days because the timing conflicted with her hospital rounds.

 

It was moments like these that she wondered if she wasn’t just a pawn in a cosmic drama, where the gods laughed and wove the threads of her life together just to see the chaos it would bring.

 

While she lamented her fate and parsed the craziness of the day, Chi-Chi began to realize something was _off_ with Kakarrot.

 

Chi-Chi hadn’t noticed at first, as she was overwhelmed with seeing him after all this time along with the entire circumstance that brought them together. But after spending another hour in his presence, listening to audio to confirm the voice on the phone was some sort of “Prince” guy, eating some takeout from Kame House — the dumplings were excellent — and then showing them Bulma’s texts, playing back her voice mail…

 

Something was off. And it wasn’t just the abruptly different look he was showcasing.

 

It was the little things.

 

For example, he stood differently.

 

He now had _excellent_ posture, his chin up and shoulders back while he stood. The Kakarrot _she_ knew hunched a little, like the weight of the world was on his shoulders — or maybe it was just because she was so much shorter. But even when he looked at her now, he’d angle his head or his eyes, not his shoulders or back.

 

He spoke differently, too.

 

His tone was straightforward, no hint of playfulness, no nicknames…

 

She knew it was silly, but he didn’t call her _Florence_ once, and it was unnerving.

 

Five years was a long time, she determined. Their affair had only lasted eight months or so, anyway… but the feeling of unease still hadn’t abated.

 

“All right, Ms. Mau,” Kami said, nodding toward her. “There’s not much more we can do here but wait for the Prince’s instructions. In the meantime, we are trying to track your friend’s co-ordinates through her phone and should have some results momentarily. However, if the Prince phones, we need you to be able to answer as to not arouse suspicion.”

 

Chi-Chi sighed heavily. She’d already spent a couple hours at the station and she was drained, but what other choice did she have?

 

“Is there somewhere she can rest?” Kakarrot broke in. “She looks like she’s going to pass out.”

 

“I’m fine,” Chi-Chi said, a little piqued, glaring at Kakarrot who looked taken aback by her gaze. She tore her eyes away from him and sniffed. She knew she probably looked a mess. “I just need some coffee maybe.”

 

“I’ll get some and check on the status of the cell phone tracking,” Piccolo offered, pushing off the desk he was leaning on. Kami followed him out.

 

She realized they had put her through all that interrogation bullshit because they had to check if she was a Frieza agent. The thought was so absurd, she hardly could believe it. She expected it from Piccolo as he had no idea who she was, but it _hurt_ to think that _Kakarrot_ could even consider her untrustworthy… after everything they’d been through.

 

But once trust was established, they sent someone to Bulma’s apartment to check if she was home and ask a few questions. When the heiress wasn’t found and an elderly neighbor mentioned seeing her leave with some gentleman after midnight — she’d heard a ruckus that woke her up — Piccolo seemed to come to life, asking for her phone and barking a million and one questions.

 

With current technology, searching for a cellphone was easier to do, but _only_ if Bulma had turned the Find My Phone function on. Chi-Chi doubted it—her friend was rich, famous, _and_ a tech wizard (she suspected Bulma probably scrambled her own phone somehow for privacy’s sake). So they were having a harder time than most tracking it down… but there were still cell tower records and ye olde fashioned triangulation to be done.

 

Kakarrot broke their tense silence first.

 

“I’ve upset you.”

 

It was then she realized this was technically the first time they’d been _alone_ since they reunited.

 

“You _think?_ ” Chi-Chi couldn’t help but lash out. “ _You’re_ the reason I’m in this mess!”

 

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately, and he _looked it._ In fact, he looked pretty miserable. She’d been avoiding his gaze, avoiding looking at him too closely since that first meeting in the interrogation room. She was still feeling raw and out of sorts, stressed by everything that was going on along with his presence.

 

But now she felt more awful. She wasn’t helping matters by being angry at him.

 

Truth be told, she was terrified for her friend but she also was out of her mind worried about what would happen to _him_. The psychopath on the phone clearly wanted to harm Kakarrot and Chi-Chi didn’t even want to entertain the thought of what that meant.

 

“ _I’m_ sorry, this is just… this is the worst day,” Chi-Chi said with a heavy sigh.

 

“We’re going to get through this,” he said, his voice soft and low. “I can tell you’re a strong person.”

 

Chi-Chi’s brow furrowed. The _way_ he said that…

 

He sighed and closed his eyes tightly, rubbing his templates with his knuckles.

 

“Are you okay?” Chi-Chi asked, concerned at the pain that flashed through his face.

 

“Not really,” he said, still rubbing his head. “I have this pounding headache.”

 

“Stress, probably,” Chi-Chi said, sympathetically. “The coffee will help and an ibuprofen. There’s got to be a stash here in the station somewhere.”

 

“Mm,” he said, now rubbing the back of his head. Chi-Chi’s care-taking instincts tingled.

 

“Um… I could…” she began impulsively, then bit her lip. That was inappropriate to even suggest, wasn’t it? With their history?

 

“Hm?” He craned his head toward her as he rubbed his neck tiredly.

 

“I could give you a small massage,” she said finally, her voice a little high pitched.

 

“Could you?” he asked gratefully, already turning, clearly not at all finding the suggestion inappropriate as she thought it would be.

 

“O-okay...” she murmured, standing behind him as he sat down in the chair in front of the desk, so he would be lower than she was. She rubbed her palms together to warm up and then her hands were on his neck, her thumbs pressing firmly but gently from the top of his back, driving up to the base of his skull.

 

He made a groaning noise and moisture immediately gathered between her thighs.

 

She had no self-control around this man! she thought wildly.

 

Her fingers trembled against his skin, but she continued the same pressure, saying nothing, blushing as she continued her ministrations. He was just another patient, she tried to tell herself. Just applying the massage training she’d taken for recovery and injury patients…

 

She moved away from his neck and was working his traps and shoulders, and he sighed, his head tipping back enough to touch her torso. He looked up at her, heavy lidded.

 

“You are _really_ good with your hands,” he murmured.

 

She heard no innuendo is his voice — there wasn’t, was there? — but she flushed all the same.

 

“Headache still bothering you?” Her voice sounded breathy even to her.

 

“Mm, a little, but I feel a lot better now, thank you,” he said, warmly. It was the first time he sounded less impersonal this entire time.

 

The door banged open, causing Chi-Chi to jump back, like she’d just been caught stealing from the cookie jar.

 

“We think we know where your friend is,” Piccolo said, his hands full of coffee. His eyes narrowed at her briefly, then angled at Kakarrot behind her. When he handed her the coffee, he shook his head slightly, but went on as if he hadn’t just given her the most judgmental eye. “The phone was found at an abandoned building in the warehouse district. We’re sending SWAT over there.”

 

“Oh, thank god,” Chi-Chi gasped.

 

“Don’t celebrate yet. We still need to find and extract her,” he said. He quickly turned his attention back to Kakarrot. “Korzen, a word?”

 

Kakarrot sipped his coffee and nodded. “Mm, ’kay.”

 

Piccolo crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. “ _Alone_.”

 

“Oh, uh, okay,” he said, stepping forward to follow Piccolo. Abruptly, before he went out the door, he turned and made a beeline back toward her. Her eyes widened as he leaned down and brushed his lips against her cheek.

 

“Thanks again for the massage. You’re sweet,” he said with a wide smile.

 

Chi-Chi’s jaw loosened, her fingers rising to touch her cheek.

 

“Korzen!”

 

“Yeah, coming!” Kakarrot called.

 

Chi-Chi stared at his retreating back in shock.

  
What just happened?

 

.

.

.


	15. Chapter 15

Piccolo was striding rather impatiently away, so Goku had to practically jog to catch up. He seemed to be leading them to a room with a schedule posted on the wall. Piccolo picked up a placard that was above the posted schedule that said “Do Not Disturb” — sliding it over a slot on the door. Piccolo pulled the ID from a clip on his pants and swiped it over a black scanner. The door unlocked.

 

Piccolo gestured for Goku to follow him in, realizing he’d led him into what looked like a small gymnasium, with ropes on the ceiling and ladders against the wall, along with weights and other various items. Piccolo shrugged off his sports jacket and pushed his sleeves up his forearms.

 

“What—” Goku began to ask, but he couldn’t finish before Piccolo swiped a fist right at him. Goku gasped and moved away quickly, automatically lifting his forearm to block.

 

Goku was flabbergasted at all of these attacks, and Piccolo was _so_ fast despite his tall, large frame. Why was he _attacking_ him?!

 

He tried to ask, but all Piccolo yelled was:

 

“Shut up and fight back, you pussy!”

 

Goku, however, was not a violent person. He loved _sparring_ , but it was always for fun. Martial arts was exercise and a challenge, but he wasn’t—

 

Goku saw stars as Piccolo’s fist finally connected with his jaw and he stumbled back in shock. He could hear Piccolo’s harsh laughter ring around his head, but he was too disconcerted to look at him.

 

“Is that all you got, dumbass?” Piccolo spat, bouncing on his feet and craning his neck. And then Piccolo was on him again, a flurry of punches, and Goku tried as hard as he could to block.

 

Piccolo decided to knee him in the stomach, knocking all the wind out of him and causing him to collapse on the ground. Piccolo huffed and loomed over him, shaking his head in disappointment. Goku groaned, clutching his middle.

 

“You are absolutely _pathetic._ Did that knock on your noggin not only scramble your brain but cut off your dick, too?”

 

Goku was getting really mad but he tried to keep a semblance of calm. Grampy always told him that if you were goaded into a fight out of anger, that it would only end poorly. It was one thing to fight to defend, it was another because the man was just mean and insane.

 

“Wh-why are you doing this?” Goku bit out, trying to get back to his feet, but Piccolo nearly landed another kick, this time to his face. Fortunately, he was able to anticipate it and rolled away on the ground.

 

“Fight me, asshole,” Piccolo shouted.

 

“ _No!_ ” Goku exclaimed. “This is wrong! What have I done to make you so angry?!”

 

“Having shit for brains for one,” Piccolo growled.

 

“I haven’t done anything to you. I haven’t harmed _anyone_ ,” Goku went on, completely confused. At that, Piccolo stopped advancing.

 

“So you’d fight me if I harmed someone?”

 

Goku was flabbergasted at the question. “Only if it meant protecting them.”

 

“So,” Piccolo started to circle him slowly, “If I decided to terrorize your boss, that bald roommate of yours. Say, I kick his face in? Break his arm?”

 

Goku was horrified at all the suggestions, alarmed with anger rising as Piccolo casually threatened his friend. “I’d try to stop you from doing it in the first place.”

 

“But what if I did? Would you... teach me a lesson in his defense?” He sounded weirdly calm and matter-of-fact and it made Goku’s blood run cold. He grew conflicted. Was _retaliation_ a sort of defense of it, if it deterred future violence?

 

Goku had no idea what to say so he just stared at Piccolo helplessly on the ground.

 

Piccolo’s expression changed and he smiled, but Goku saw that it was not friendly. Not at all.

 

“You’re a trusting idiot by default, aren’t you?” Piccolo said slowly, still circling his form. “You expect the best from everyone. What if I told you I work for Frieza?”

 

Goku gasped at the implication, even though it made absolutely _no_ sense. The video, _Kami_ , all the files pointed to Piccolo’s involvement and loyalty to the mission and Special Investigations Unit. Why would _he…_

 

“The only people that know you right now, the real you, are me, Kami and the hot nurse in his office,” Piccolo went on, his tone starting to take a threatening lilt. “It would be _so_ easy to snap that old man’s neck.”

 

“He’s your uncle!” Goku exclaimed with horror.

 

“What about your former side piece?” Piccolo’s grin deepened, and it was a truly ugly look. “Maybe I could have a _go_ with her before I shoot her in the head?”

 

Goku saw red.

 

Piccolo cried out in surprise when he was tackled to the ground, but he strangely didn’t seem to be upset at all! He continued grinning as they wrestled and batted at each other. Piccolo was strong, but if Goku could subdue him — just _knock_ him out, of course, tie him up — he could get Kami and Chi-Chi out of the building before things escalated.

 

Goku moved to elbow Piccolo across the face, but he blocked rather effectively and tried to hit him with his own elbow. This went back and forth for a bit until Goku saw an opening and snaked himself around Piccolo to secure a rear-naked chokehold.

 

“Y-you stupid...” Piccolo bit out. “I was… just… _testing…”_

 

Goku had no idea what to think, so he continued with the hold, but Piccolo was super strong and managed to stand even though he was wrapped around him like some monkey. Without warning, Piccolo jumped and toppled them all on the gym’s ground.

 

The momentum and pain caused Goku to lose his grip, allowing Piccolo to jump back up. Still, adrenaline pumped through Goku. He _had_ to stop him from harming Captain Kami and that sweet nurse, Chi-Chi!

 

Goku was about to launch himself at Piccolo again when the taller man whipped out a sidearm and pointed it directly at him, causing him to stumble slightly and raise his hands in alarm and defeat.

 

“Stand down,” Piccolo spat, breathing heavily. “Korzen, _chill_ the fuck out. I was just _testing_ you.”

 

Goku’s face flushed. “ _What?!_ ”

 

Piccolo continued to point his gun at Goku. “You wouldn’t fight me unless I became a threat to someone besides yourself. I don’t work for Frieza, you freak, so _calm down_.”

 

“You are insane,” Goku said, still rattled and unsure. Was this another trick? “If you wanted to _spar,_ why didn’t you just say so?”

 

“Are you twelve?” Piccolo spat. “My students have better spines than you. I needed to see if you can stand up in a _real_ fight. Now that I do, can you use this?”

 

Piccolo gestured at the gun that was still pointed at Goku, before lowering it slowly.

 

“I… uh… rifles. I used to hunt on Papaya Island,” Goku stammered.

 

“ _Fuck._ Okay, follow me,” Piccolo growled. Goku hesitated for a moment, still completely stunned at Piccolo’s abrupt change in attitude and personality, and then back again. Not knowing what else to do, Goku followed.

 

He was frustrated that was the entirety of his day. Being yelled at, confused, and forced to follow.

 

Piccolo led him down a hallway, before stopping in front of a door where he checked the calendar and looked in the room.

 

“Okay, it’s clear, come in,” Piccolo said and Goku realized Piccolo had led him to an internal firing range.

 

On the wall was a variety of firearms and he gasped at the vastness of it all. Piccolo looked around again and then picked up a handgun from the wall and handed it to him.

 

“This a Glock 17,” Piccolo said. “Here is the safety, and—”

 

Goku looked at the weapon in his hand and felt the weight of it in his fingers. It felt oddly familiar, like it was an extension of his arm.

 

“—Are you _listening_ to me, Korzen?” Piccolo shouted. “Do you want to accidentally shoot your dick off?”

 

“N-no,” Goku said shakily.

 

“Practice holding it,” Piccolo ordered, then pulled out his own firearm from his holster. “Like this.”

 

Goku swallowed and mimicked Piccolo, pointing at the target dummy in front.

 

“All right, so in order to shoot, you need to—” Piccolo began, but Goku was already ahead of him.

 

Like a man possessed, Goku moved his hands around the weapon, releasing the clip to check if there were any rounds inside, before pushing it back with a satisfied click. He quickly released the safety, then cocked the hammer. Goku narrowed his eyes and pointed at the dummy, his bottom hand curling against his trigger hand to steady it as he shot off three simultaneous rounds.

 

All this happened in the manner of seconds.

 

Piccolo ducked at the sudden shots, gaping at Goku in shock, noting that they were dead on target.

 

Goku grinned widely with surprise. “I remember how to shoot these types of guns!”

 

He felt giddy and proud. It was the first time in the day he felt _less_ clueless.

 

Piccolo narrowed his eyes once he sufficiently recovered from Goku’s display.

 

“Okay, let’s try a few more pistols and see what _else_ you remember.”

 

Piccolo threw him another type of Glock, and then a Browning, a Jericho, then a Heckler & Koch… each round fired more confident than the next. Goku knew that this was sort of _bad_ , but he was too excited discovering an old skill.

 

He _knew_ this.

 

He was _good_ at it.

 

“Maybe you can be useful tonight after all,” Piccolo said after a few more rounds were shot. He actually looked relieved and less annoyed. “You like any of these more than the other?”

 

“This one,” Goku said decisively, lifting the Browning Mark III.

 

“Huh, that was your favorite the last time, too. Keep it,” Piccolo said. “Maybe there’s more of Kakarrot rattling around in that messed up head of yours after all.”

 

Goku wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not.

 

“Why are you testing me like this?” Goku asked, realizing there must be a point to all this abuse.

 

“Because I highly doubt we’re going to find Briefs at the warehouse district,” Piccolo said heavily. “Too convenient. And _your_ _old friend_ hasn’t even contacted the nurse yet. I had to check _if_ we really needed to send you to meet the Prince at some meeting time, that you wouldn’t die the first five minutes.”

 

Goku swallowed and paled. “Oh.”

 

“Now. I want you to walk horizontally and shoot every single target until you’re at the end of this row. Got it?” Piccolo ordered. Goku nodded.

 

“What’re you waiting for?! Go!” Piccolo barked.

 

Goku took a steadying breath and did as he was told.

 

.

.

.

 

_At the docks…_

 

At some point, he turned the lights back on. She’d stared at the camera, blinking red, waiting for him to say something threatening or bark an order or who the fuck knew… but nothing came. She had the distinct impression that he was watching her, perhaps suspicious that keeping her in the dark would allow her to figure something out.

 

Unfortunately, she was running out of ideas. The best she could come up with in her tired and stressed state was to remove the underwire from her bra and fashion some sort of blunt weapon from it, or even use the flimsy lingerie as some sort of choking weapon—but all those scenarios involved her having to be _close_ enough to hurt him.

 

Additionally, she already had a taste of that in her last-ditch effort to escape and take his gun. She’d _felt_ his strength, knew that even if she was in control of all her faculties and was in excellent health, that he would overpower her quickly. Not to mention that the scenario of trying to choke him with her bra was just a little bit _too_ provocative… especially after that last encounter.

 

He probably turned the light on just so he could ogle her, the pervert.

 

She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction so she’d calmly walked across the container and plopped herself right _under_ the camera.

 

Have fun staring at an empty space, idiot, Bulma thought.

 

Bulma wrapped her arms around herself miserably. She suspected that it was nighttime now, due to the rapid temperature drop. She was wearing her usual post-shift, post-workout outfit of a thin sweater and jeans, and it really was _not_ the best attire when the temperature inside the container was probably exactly like the outside.

 

She was also feeling a little thirsty and hungry, having had no food or drink all day… unless that noxious glass of water counted. She wasn’t about to ask the monster that stuck her in the container for anything.

 

So she was startled when she heard the creak and jostling of the shipping container doors being unlocked. Bulma’s heart leapt to her throat. This could be another opportunity for escape—

 

But her hope immediately died when she saw her captor point his gun at her and swing handcuffs with his free hand. He tossed her the cuffs and she fumbled catching it.

 

“Put that on,” he ordered coolly.

 

She observed that he was no longer wearing his suit, but a black t-shirt and dark cargo pants with matching combat boots, a jacket tied at his waist. He looked like he was ready to storm a battlefield and it made Bulma _very_ nervous. She contemplated her options and the meaning of this sudden intrusion.

 

“Is there a scenario running through your mind that doesn’t end up with you injured?” he asked as the silence stretched and she made no move to put the cuffs on. “Because I assure you, there is none.”

 

He was right. He really was several levels stronger than her _and_ he had a gun. She suspected she was bruised all over from their last tussle. Bulma cursed as she resigned to cuff herself. She was careful, though, to make it as loose as possible.

 

He smiled at her actions and it was truly a nasty look. But she hardly had a chance to react when she felt something soft and heavy thrown against her head. She grunted in annoyance, pulling the fabric from her head and was stunned to realize he’d thrown her the Armani jacket he was wearing earlier in the day.

 

It was still warm, indicating he’d only recently changed to his current outfit. She couldn’t help but also recognize the scent of his cologne lingering against the fabric’s folds… _Guilty by Gucci,_ because this man apparently had a sense of humor about his luxury items.

 

Bulma wasn’t sure if she should wrap herself in his jacket and revel in warmth, or toss it aside like the garbage man he was. She was so fucking cold… since her hands weren’t free now anyway, all she could do was drape it over her like a blanket. She decided martyring herself wasn’t going to help anything, and she was going to bide her time until she could figure something out.

 

“ _Sous-merde_ _,_ ” Bulma muttered beneath her breath, insulting this loser in French. Something that he could write off as nonsense and not provoke—

 

“ _Tu es drôle,”_ he returned easily in a pitch-perfect accent, angling his head.

 

Educated _and_ evil. First the weird interest in her research, and apparently he was a polyglot, too?

 

Lovely, she thought sourly, pulling her knees up protectively from the ground.

 

“You’re only going to be here for another hour or so,” he said, back in English. “The jacket should be enough until then.”

 

Did he really fetch his jacket because he noticed her discomfort over the weather? Creeper probably saw her shivering looking at the camera footage before she’d moved over… it made no sense though. Why did he give a shit over her comfort?

 

“What happens in an hour?”

 

“You like games, don’t you?” he said in response, whipping out his phone to dial. “Let’s play one now. It’ll be fun.”

 

“I’m not playing any of your sick games,” she growled, then shrunk under his jacket when he narrowed his eyes menacingly. Nothing was making sense and he didn’t seem to have a pattern in what he was doing, how he was acting… she suspected, though, that was the point.

 

“You really don’t have a choice,” he said, actually sounding amused. This really _was_ a weird, twisted game to him. Playing with her life. Playing with her friend’s life. “Anyway, this is in your best interest.”

 

His voice had that mocking, lilting tone again. He pressed a button and his phone was suddenly on speaker and ringing.

 

“Don’t you want to be rescued? Go tell them where you are.”

 

_Rescued? What the hell?_

 

“I have no clue where I am!” Bulma exclaimed.

 

“Yes, you do,” he said, coming closer to hold the phone near her, but not near enough for her to kick him.

 

With wide eyes, Bulma saw that the smartphone blast Chi-Chi’s Facebook profile picture, with the words “Traitor’s Whore” bouncing up and down.

 

“H-hello? Who’s this?” Chi-Chi’s voice was tight and frightened over the speaker.

 

Chi-Chi’s voice echoed ominously in the container as Bulma’s heart leapt in her throat.

 

“Go on, tell her where you are,” he said, his tone deceptively soothing.

 

Bulma’s lips trembled.

 

“Bulma? Bulma! Are you there?! Did that Prince guy hurt you?! P-please tell me you’re okay!” Chi-Chi sounded desperate.

 

 _Prince guy?_ Bulma’s eyes flew back to his. His name was “Prince?” Jesus, how pompous… of course.

 

“I’m here, I’m fine, Chi, considering the circumstances,” Bulma said in a normal volume. She wanted to make sure Chi-Chi didn’t panic, even though bile was quickly rising up her throat.

 

“Tell her where you are,” he repeated evenly. Bulma clenched her jaw.

 

“I’m by the bay. The docks where all the shipping containers are,” Bulma said mechanically.

 

“Specific container?” he — _Prince? —_ prompted.

 

“Container 57220,” Bulma said finally. She’d glanced at the side of the container right before she was dropped off. Her captor had deduced she probably had near-perfect recall and some eidetic memory.

 

He took the phone off speaker and put it back on his ear.

 

“Come midnight. Bring Kakarrot here and I promise your little doctor will be just fine.”

 

Her captor locked eyes with Bulma. “As for the pigs listening in and trying to track this call, wanting to interrupt an _internal matter_ , let’s see how The West City Times spins ‘Capsule Corporation Heiress Murdered in Bungled Rescue Attempt.’”

 

Bulma couldn’t help the sharp intake of breath.

 

He hung up and flashed her another one of his unpleasant smiles.

 

“See? Fun.”

 

“Fuck you,” she spat shakily.

 

He grinned.

 

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sous-merde: a French insult essentially calling Vegeta _worse_ than a piece of shit.
> 
> Tu es drôle: "You're funny."


	16. Chapter 16

Goku decided that the only way he could get through this night was to _stop_ worrying, _stop_ thinking, and just simply follow orders. Every time he thought about the situation and stakes involved, how it was somehow his fault, his head would throb, his heart would race… if he was going to be _functional,_ that he had to clear headed about it all.

 

He used every ounce of his martial arts training to focus and calm himself.

 

This was how he found himself poring over plans that Kami found of the docks alongside Piccolo.

 

“There’s containers and docks work in a grid system,” Piccolo said. He took a red marker and circled a spot in the plans. “This is the approximate area where the container should be located.”

 

It was essentially in the middle, surrounded by a slew of other containers and cranes… enough places to for the Prince to hide or set off whatever trap he had in mind.

 

“Do you think she’ll actually be in that container? She wasn’t at the warehouse building,” Goku asked.

 

Piccolo ran a hand through his face. “I don’t know. We could use a thermal camera right about now to verify—but we need to get close enough. SWAT will have them to verify that someone _is_ in the container, but by that point, the Prince will know we’re there.”

 

“So how are we going to get her out of there without anyone getting hurt?” Goku asked, trying very hard to keep the worry out of his voice.

 

Focus, calm, he told himself.

 

Kami sighed heavily. “First and foremost, we are still hoping to have a successful extraction of Ms. Briefs without complying with the Prince’s demands for exchange. Just like earlier, we will rely on the SWAT expertise to covertly approach the area and then come in.”

 

“If all goes well, then that’s that,” Piccolo said.

 

“Sounds too simple,” Goku said suspiciously. Piccolo’s brows raised.

 

“Huh, _not_ so stupid after all,” Piccolo drawled, but the cruel edge in his tone had softened somewhat. Between recognizing there were _still_ glimmers of Goku’s old self lying around, and Piccolo’s unmasked admiration of Goku’s admittedly rusty but still excellent marksmanship, the sergeant was looking at him like he was borderline _useful._

 

“You have a plan, then, if that doesn’t work out?” Goku prompted cautiously.

 

Kami and Piccolo exchanged a look before Piccolo shrugged and set his lips in a grim line.

 

“It’s a long shot, but we might have something he wants even _more_ than whatever messed up revenge plot he has for you,” Piccolo said finally.

 

Goku shook his head, confused. “What do you mean?”

 

“Before you disappeared, you were building a rather large case against Frieza,” Kami said. “Your primary source of information was through your association with the Saiyans.”

 

“The _who?_ ”

 

“The hit squad that the Prince leads,” Piccolo said flatly.

 

Goku blanched and opened his mouth to ask what that meant when Piccolo shook his head.

 

“We don’t have time to explain all the details.” Piccolo sounded really impatient, probably at the end of his rope for always having to break things down for him all day, but Kami raised his hand.

 

“The boy can’t go in blind, sergeant. We should give him at least a brief summary,” Kami said, before turning to Goku gravely. “Five years ago, you _begged_ us to give the Prince protections. You _vouched_ for him.”

 

Goku’s eyes widened, baffled. From every angle, this Prince guy was bad news from start to finish. Why in the world would he _vouch_ for a monster? He was about to open his mouth to ask another question, but Piccolo’s look quelled him from making a sound.

 

“You wanted him to be a double agent like _you_ were,” Piccolo answered his unspoken question anyway, shocking Goku. “We didn’t listen at the time; we thought you’d become compromised.”

 

From Piccolo’s doubtful expression, that perception hadn’t changed much. However, Kami was nodding slowly.

 

“But we’ve had a few years to review the case you built and do our own investigation, and while we don’t have the whole story since that disappeared when you did, we believe that the Prince can be an asset to us,” Kami said. “It can avoid further bloodshed. It’s not ideal, but concessions have to be made.”

 

Goku blinked rapidly. “How?”

 

“Give him the chance he wanted, all those years ago. Let’s give him something better than revenge,” Kami said.

 

“What would he want more than that?”

 

Kami and Piccolo exchanged looks.

 

“Freedom,” Kami said.

 

.

.

.

 

It was 11pm already, the restaurant was closed and everyone had gone home, so Chi-Chi and Krillin were alone in the dim sum restaurant. When it was deemed that her _phone_ was more important than her presence as it was nearing the exchange deadline, Piccolo asked Krillin to pick her up. It was out of the question for her take a cab, and Piccolo had driven her to the precinct and didn’t have the luxury to leave.

 

She was upset by everything that day, but she was especially upset at not having a chance to say good-bye to Kakarrot — when they had convened _without her_ in Kami’s office right after the ominous phone call with Bulma, she’d been left alone and was told under no uncertain terms not to leave Piccolo’s office.

 

When Kami finally came to get her, all he did was lead her to the exit and Krillin was already waiting for her. She’d asked for Kakarrot and the stately police officer simply shook his head and handed her a throwaway flip phone. Kakarrot had her phone; they needed it just in case the Prince wanted to contact them and she was only to call her own number for an emergency.

 

She was quiet and numb the entire drive back to the restaurant.

 

But, despite appearances of keeping it together, Chi-Chi collapsed to her knees when she exited Krillin’s car.

 

Which was why she was now in his restaurant, having a much-needed tea with a very uncomfortable semi-stranger.

 

“ _So…”_ Krillin began awkwardly. “Crazy day.”

 

Krillin shifted in his seat, and Chi-Chi thought it was sweet that he was trying to add _some_ semblance of normalcy to it all. Sitting with Kakarrot’s _friend_ was disconcerting in and of itself, without all the rest of the day’s drama involved. Her little affair with Kakarrot had been intensely private; he refused to talk to her about his life beyond college, and he’d wryly told her years ago that he didn’t really have any friends anyway.

 

But this short man was clearly someone that Kakarrot trusted — he was his (Other? Cover?) boss, the man that aided him in that crazy apartment fire rescue, and apparently, also his _new_ roommate? While there were more important things at hand, Chi-Chi couldn’t help but be curious to know what kind of people a Kakarrot engaged with.

 

“It’s not done yet,” Chi-Chi sighed, her lips dipping with worry.

 

“There’s nothing more we can do here,” Krillin said sensibly, his eyes warm with sympathy. “ _You’ve_ done everything you can.”

 

Chi-Chi’s chest tightened. “I can’t help but think this is all my fault.”

 

Krillin shook his head rapidly. “No, don’t even go there. This Prince guy’s a psycho. Everyone on the street knows it.”

 

“But it was _my_ involvement with Kakarrot that—”

 

“Oh man, no one would blame you for that,” Krillin said, with a wry twist with his lips. “Goku’s only been working at the restaurant for a few weeks, but not _one_ day has passed where a woman—and some men—didn’t throw themselves at him.”

 

Krillin was eyeing her with a strange sort of regard at that statement, like he was assessing _why her?_

 

To be honest, Chi-Chi asked herself that a few times over the years. It wasn’t because she was down on herself, per se… she knew she was respectably pretty and ambitious and a general catch. But Kakarrot had always been a golden boy—physically exceptional with an abundance of charm.

 

He could have had _any_ woman.

 

Maybe he’d been overcome with gratitude and felt like he owed her something for saving his life? Maybe he’d been an emotional mess and she was a willing outlet? Maybe she’d reminded him of the way things were _before…_ whatever it was that led him to work for the police? All of the above?

 

Who knew?

 

After that fateful night at her father’s house, she’d thought that was going to be _it…_ an emotional one-night stand to take to her grave.

 

But he showed up randomly at her apartment a week later and then _kept_ showing up… and she never turned him away.

 

“How did Kakarrot start working for you in the first place?” Chi-Chi asked, trying to change the subject. She didn’t want to delve too much about women throwing themselves at her former lover or reopen old wounds for herself.

 

Krillin laughed at that and shrugged. “He _literally_ just showed up one day and started working at the kitchen. The rest is history.”

 

“He does that. Randomly show up, I mean,” Chi-Chi said, thinking of the week after their first night together.

 

“I see,” Krillin said, though it was clear he didn’t really.

 

“Like now,” Chi-Chi said with a twist of her lips. “Five years later. So random.” She sighed and looked at a faraway point.

 

“I’m Buddhist, you know,” Krillin said, apropos to nothing. At her uncomprehending glance, he tilted his head.

 

“Everything happens for a reason. It _isn’t_ random,” he explained, with a slow nod. “But more importantly, I believe in _karma_.”

 

Krillin leaned back on his chair and tried his best to look optimistic as Chi-Chi began to comprehend his train of thought.

 

He sensed her worry and was trying his best to assuage her fears.

 

“Goku is a _good_ man. I’ve spent pretty much every day with him for the past month, and everything he does is steeped in purity and positivity. He saved a girl’s life this week! Karma will have his back tonight.”

 

Chi-Chi’s fingers tightened against the tea cup. She wasn’t religious by any means, but for tonight, she hoped and prayed Krillin was right.

 

.

.

.

 

_At the docks…_

 

Bulma lost all track of time. Stewing in the dark metal container was making her feel clammy and cold. She spent her time thinking that she was going to make sure that she would have a Swiss Army knife on her at all times, somehow hidden in her person, forever and ever now.

 

All she really needed was a screw driver and she’d be out of here…

 

She was lamenting all the ways she could potentially dismember her captor and get rid of the evidence when she heard some shuffling just outside the door. She was shocked when she suddenly heard banging right outside.

 

“ _Ms. Briefs?!_ _West City Police Department!_ ”

 

Bang bang bang, went their pounding.

 

Oh, my god! It was over! She was being rescued!

 

“Yes, yes, I’m here, oh my god!” she screamed in relief. “Quick, before he gets here! He’s got this place mic’d!”

 

“ _Step away from the door please.”_

 

She scrambled as far away as she could in the dark. She covered her ears as best she could with a shoulder and her bound hands, anticipating the loud sounds. She suspected there was a metal cutter or piercing round to help unlock the door.

 

And just like that, the doors burst open, men in dark fatigues pointing high-powered rifles with sight lines into the container. A couple men scrambled in to check, while another pulled her to her feet.

 

“Clear,” one cop said.

 

“We’ve got twenty seconds, he’s probably watching this on that feed right now, let’s _go!”_ Bulma shrieked, and she was already being half-carried, half-pulled out of the container.

 

“Here, take her,” one cop with headgear shoved her toward another, who was pulling her away, while she observed the rest of the team review and check the container. “Back to base.”

 

“Got it.”

 

Bulma whirled her head, her eyes widening. The voice was muffled behind what looked to be a balaclava under that headgear, but Bulma thought, no, it _couldn’t_ be..? Like some sort “pass the potato” he pushed her toward _another_ cop with a headgear, though this cop’s balaclava was mostly pulled down.

 

Bulma, however, was still staring at the cop whose face was still obscured.

 

Black shirt, black cargos… now adorned with WCPD badges and SWAT emblazoned on a vest.

 

“W-wait,” Bulma gasped, grabbing at the man who’d taken her elbow.

 

He turned and inclined his head. She saw a flash of the glass of a Chopard watch as he moved his arm toward her direction for a salute.

 

“See you later, Dr. Briefs,” he said as _Guilty by Gucci_ floated in the air surrounding him.

 

… then he had the audacity to _wink!_

 

Bulma’s jaw dropped when he turned abruptly and joined the rest of the forces disappearing amongst the shipping crates _._ She felt herself be pulled by another cop, babbling about how they will take care of her and that they need to exit the premises immediately.

 

Her captor’s words rang in her mind.

 

“ _Don’t you want to be rescued? Go tell them where you are.”_

 

“Wait, stop!” Bulma shrieked, as realization dawned, clawing at whoever was trying to take her away. He was off with the rest of the team trying to check if the area was _clear of himself!_ “That’s him, he’s here, there’s—”

 

“You’re going into shock,” the cop said, and she found herself randomly wrapped in a blanket and hauled off her feet, away from the docks. She shook her head.

 

“No, no, you fucking _idiot_ , he’s _there!”_ Bulma screamed, trying to get her arm out of the cocoon she was wrapped in. Holy shit was the WCPD Chief of Police going to hear about this!

 

“Yes, we understand that, Ms. Briefs,” the man said patiently, as if he was used to extracting hysterical women from crime scenes.

 

Bulma screamed in frustration as she was led away from the scene.

 

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here's a sample of what Wikipedia illustrates as SWAT](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/b/b7/SWAT_team_prepared_%284132135578%29.jpg)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [Also a fun video with another SWAT look (and another look at my twisted sense of humor)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LIdFa1qLgNQ)


	17. Chapter 17

_Just over four years ago…_

 

 

Chi-Chi looked desperately at Bulma. She was sure she was crushing the poor woman’s hand, but focusing on her friend helped distract her from the excrutiating pain. The blue haired beauty was nodding encouragingly, pumping her free fist in the air.

 

“Come on, superstar, _pu_ _sh!”_ Bulma exclaimed.

 

“I can’t do this, I-I can’t—” Chi-Chi gasped, giant tears rolling down her face. “It hurts so much!”

 

“You can, _you can._ Come on, let’s breathe together: hoo hoo heeeee… hoo hoo _heeee,”_ Bulma went on cheerily, and Chi-Chi wasn’t sure whether she wanted to slap her for being so upbeat or hug her.

 

“You can do it, Chi, it’s almost over! I need you to work _just_ a little harder!” Dr. Chow, her obstetrician, had her gloved hands held in the air in anticipation, like she was ready to catch a football. “I see the head crowning.”

 

“What if I’m not a good mother?!” Chi-Chi shrieked, gripped with panic at the reality that this was _real_ , this was happening, a _human being_ was forcing itself out of her. She had nine months to get used this idea, and it seemed fine in the _abstract..._ but what the hell had she done?!

 

“You kidding me? You’ll be _great_ , _”_ Bulma was half laughing, half yelling. “Now—”

 

Almost simultaneously, Dr. Chow and Bulma shouted, “ _Push!”_

 

Chi-Chi squeezed her eyes shut, her teeth clamping together as her body did what women did since the dawn of time—

 

—a piercing wail broke into the air.

 

“A healthy baby boy!” Dr. Chow proclaimed happily, but Chi-Chi could barely hear her. She’d already burst into tears with a mixture of relief, worry and delirium.

 

“Chi-Chi, you’re amazing,” Bulma declared, waterworks finally bursting forth when she'd kept it together until then. Chi-Chi was _so_ glad that her best friend was there. She had nightmares about facing all of _this_ alone. She’d gone into labour at least a couple weeks early from her due date. Papa was in another city on business, and the father of her child…

 

… Chi-Chi stopped her train of thought and focused on the situation at hand.

 

“Can I see him?” Chi-Chi hiccuped in between sobs.

 

“ _One_ sec,” Dr. Chow said as she and the nurses inspected the crying babe. She swiftly removed the umbilical cord.

 

After a few moments, a tiny, swaddled thing was placed in her arms.

 

Chi-Chi had never believed in love at first sight, but as she gazed down at the wriggling lump of flesh in her arms twitching and wailing, she now knew the phenomenon was real.

 

How else could she describe how much her heart swelled? How else could she describe the strange feeling of strength seeping into her bones, where a moment before she could barely stand the pain?

 

He was _so_ beautiful…those large, dark eyes, so guileless, staring at her with every expectation in the world.

 

“He’s perfect,” Bulma declared, speaking for them both.

 

Chi-Chi was robbed of words.

 

She kissed the top of his smooth forehead, and she marveled that the top of his skull was already fuzzy with hair. She promised him silently that she would be the best mother she could be. She would pour her heart and soul into making sure her baby would want for nothing.

 

With absolutely certainty, Chi-Chi knew she would die for him.

 

.

.

.

 

_Now…_

 

 

Goku was in the middle of securing the bullet proof vest when Piccolo received an urgent call. Goku had since learned to ignore the sharp barks from Piccolo, finally getting used to the man’s harsh ways. It was easier for Goku to block him out than distress himself for no reason, so it was only when the taller man lowered the phone and glanced at him that Goku deemed to ask what’s going on.

 

“SWAT found the Briefs woman. She’s okay,” Piccolo said shortly.

 

Goku’s immediate reaction was relief, but it was short-lived. Piccolo’s grave face told him the time to celebrate wasn’t at hand.

 

“What does this mean _for us_?” Goku asked finally.

 

“It doesn’t add up,” Piccolo said, his lips tight. “Why would he let her go? There was no firefight. Apparently, she was just sitting there. No extra communication. No extra demands. They couldn’t find any one else in the vicinity, just evidence of surveillance at a nearby trailer. Since they found nothing, they just took Briefs to the hospital for a routine check up and now they’ve _all_ left the scene.”

 

Goku’s blood ran cold. He wasn’t sure exactly _what_ was wrong, but like Piccolo, the entire situation made little sense _._ No Prince at the scene? No demands or violence?

 

What was the _point_ of the entire kidnapping exercise then!?

 

And Goku wasn’t even _near_ the docks yet — wasn’t the entire point to draw him out?

 

“He has something else,” Goku said, the thought gripping him with sudden alarm. “Briefs was a distraction all along.”

 

Piccolo eyed him oddly at that statement. “You…”

 

Goku raised his brows. “What?”

 

“You sound like our old self. Like a cop,” Piccolo said, and was that _approval_ in his tone? Goku wasn’t sure. There seemed to be a hint of respect in the man’s eyes. The gruff man went on, expanding on Goku’s thoughts.

 

“The Prince wanted to get our entire elite team out of the way.”

 

“To get us _alone_ ,” Goku agreed, grimly. He bit the inside of his cheek in agitation.

 

This Prince guy was _smart._ What else did he _have?_ Goku had felt off all day, but the fact that there was something _else…_ it was making his insides clench. His head was already swimming with what little he knew.

 

What else?

 

Piccolo scowled, his hand going to his mouth thoughtfully. “What’s clear is we need to go to the docks _regardless_. If anything, we need to verify what the hell he has that _we_ would want.”

 

Goku took a deep breath and went to grab his new holster. “All right. So the plan doesn’t change for now?”

 

“For now,” Piccolo said, with a sharp nod.

 

The two went uneasily to the secure exit and set off to the docks.

 

.

.

.

 

Chi-Chi rubbed her eyes tiredly. She finally managed to get herself home and she was glad that Krillin had insisted on that little tea break of theirs. It helped her realize there really wasn’t much she could do at this point. She’d done her best…

 

Bulma was going to be fine.

 

Kakarrot was going to be fine.

 

Instinctively, Chi-Chi made her way to Gohan’s bedroom, the way she always did when she wanted to be comforted. It was ironic, since it _should_ be the other way around, but Gohan was always a steadying presence for her.

 

Her son made her feel calm, centered.

 

Whole.

 

She sat down on his small twin bed and went to look for his favorite stuffed animal, a dragon he called “Shenron,” so she could cuddle the thing for a few moments and be reminded of the best thing in her life.

 

She frowned, when the chubby green thing was nowhere to be seen. She didn’t recall packing the toy when she carted Gohan off to Crayo’s house…

 

Though normally a generous boy who shared his things, Gohan was especially possessive of the dragon. He never wanted it out of the house, for fear of losing it.

 

The one Christmas they went to the store and picked it out, the old shopkeep had spun some crazy tale of how the dragon granted wishes—but only to good boys, and only if he listened to his mom, of course. Gohan had taken it to heart, and ever since then, was careful about the toy.

 

It was a great responsibility, you know, to possess such a magical creature. Her boy was so sweet and serious. Gohan had promised to be especially careful and to only wish for _good_ things.

 

If she couldn’t find this toy, she could already imagine Gohan pitching a tantrum, rare as it was.

 

Chi-Chi stood up, turning on the lights so she could better see where the damn thing could possibly be hiding.

 

That was when she saw the photograph.

 

A polaroid of Crayo and her family tied up with a simple, neatly written note:

 

_You have shitty babysitters._

 

.

.

.

 

Goku found himself clenching and unclenching his fists reflexively as they stood at the entrance of the docks. He was nervous. No matter what breathing and meditative exercises he was putting himself through, he was feeling increasingly agitated.

 

This entire day seemed to open up a Pandora’s Box of thoughts he never thought he’d possibly entertain. Dark thoughts…

 

For the past five years, he thought the absolute best of people. He knew objectively about _good_ and _evil_ , and that men were capable of horrible things… but for the past five years, he’d been surrounded by the kindest people. His first few weeks in West City and the Kame House… they were _good_ people.

 

And he considered himself a _great_ judge of character.

 

In the quiet of the car ride, Goku was able to parse through the day’s events with a little more _reflection_ , less reaction. His unease grew more and more, until his body was tense with anticipation for… what?

 

He’d lived the last five years on instinct and it hadn’t steered him wrong.

 

Perhaps his luck had run out.

 

With despair, Goku realized the biggest thing that the Prince had over him was that the Prince knew _him._

 

The Prince _knew_ Kakarrot.

 

While Goku had no idea what made _Kakarrot_ tick.

 

He learned the body had a lot of pressure points: you could use brute force to hurt, but you could save a lot of time and energy focusing on the pressure points. And Goku had been dealt several draining blows to his mind and heart.

 

What else was left?

 

If he survived this, he knew he could never be the same again. Papaya Island seemed so far away...

 

Goku clenched and unclenched his fist.

 

“Hey, hey...” Piccolo’s voice was low and quiet, observing Goku’s gesture. “Can you do this?”  


 

“Yes,” he lied, his expression resolute. He forced himself to still.

 

The alternative was to let Piccolo face the Prince alone. With all these unknowns, Goku could not in good conscience leave him behind. Goku could hold his own, and he was confident he could at the _very_ least help protect Piccolo.

 

And Grampy always said courage was all about doing the right thing, even when you were scared.

 

A buzzing and ringing abruptly pierced through the atmosphere, causing Goku to jump a feet in the air. Piccolo slapped his forehead and waved impatiently at Goku.

 

“That’s the nurse’s phone. Answer it,” Piccolo said as he watched Goku fumble with the phone hastily shoved in his back pocket. Goku had almost completely forgotten the device.

 

It was five to midnight and call display described an unlisted number.

 

Must be the Prince.

 

“Hello?” Goku answered sharply, immediately placing it on speaker so Piccolo could hear.

 

“Mama?”

 

A child’s voice.

 

Goku’s eyes widened and stared at Piccolo, stricken. The look that crossed Piccolo’s face went beyond alarm.

 

“Where’s my mama?” the child went on, as Goku’s mind raced. Chi-Chi’s child? The one in the folder… the one with the same name as his Grampy?

 

Goku could have _sworn_ Piccolo muttered under his breath, “Of course” but Goku didn’t have the luxury to parse what any of that meant, as he was trying to focus on the call at hand.

 

“Is this Gohan?” Goku said, trying to keep his voice as even as possible. Inside, he’d gone numb with terror. No. This monster… this monster didn’t hate him _that_ much?

 

To hurt an innocent child?

 

“Yes. Who is this? Can I talk to mama?” The child sounded a tad impatient now, his voice free of distress. Chi-Chi said she’d left her child with a friend. It was perfectly normal for a kid to call his mom, right?

 

… _but close to midnight? Shouldn’t he be sleeping?!_

 

Goku’s noticed Piccolo go off to the side to make his own frantic phone call, probably to Captain Kami.

 

“I’m a friend of your mom’s. Gohan,” Goku dropped his voice to the soothing way he knew calmed children. “Your mom’s not here right now. She’s… sleeping. But she’s okay. Can you tell me if _you_ are okay?”

 

“Can you wake her up? It’s important! It worked! I’m going to get my wish,” the boy babbled happily, dismissing his last question. His voice pitched higher in a way that sounded excited. That meant he was _fine_ , right?

 

“That’s great, Gohan,” Goku said placatingly, stalling. “Before I wake your mom, can you describe where you are? What it looks like?”

 

At that, Goku overheard a murmur in the background, a brief shuffling and then:

 

“Tut tut, Kakarrot. Telling would be cheating. See you in five.”

 

The line went dead.

 

.

.

.


	18. Chapter 18

Waves of deja-vu crashed over Chi-Chi.

 

She decided she was stuck in a time loop.

 

Like a messed up Groundhog’s Day of horrors where she relived the worst parts of her life over and over, until she somehow managed to learn some deep life lesson.

 

But what lesson was that? To stay away from bleeding childhood friends? To make him _stay_ at the hospital instead of dragging him home with her? Or maybe she was supposed to walk away from all this — walk away from _him._

 

Take their son and run far, far away.

 

Away from all this madness.

 

And yet, here she was, sprinting across the ER as he bled out.

  
Still, it wasn’t _exactly_ like five years ago—Kakarrot was awake this time, dazed and babbling incoherently. Something about help, that _he_ needed to help…? He sustained several blows to the head, angry streaks of blood marring the beautiful planes of his face, so she didn’t expect him to be lucid. And instead of Bulma, Dr. Senbei Norimaki, one of the attending ER staff at Wukong, was barking orders and moving at a frantic pace.

 

As a nurse, she knew that sometimes bleeding looked worse than it actually was, but his newly blonde locks were stained an angry shock of red, and dear god, it was so much!

 

Abruptly, Kakarrot’s incomprehensible muttering trailed off, his unfocused eyes rolling to the back of his head.

 

_No no no no…!_

 

A woman screamed. But when she felt Lazuli’s firm grip pull her away from the hospital bed to let the _active_ staff work on reviving Kakarrot, Chi-Chi realized the sound was coming from her throat.

 

.

.

.

 

 

_Two hours ago, at the docks …_

 

A cool breeze, much cooler due to the proximity of the water, drifted over Goku but he could hardly feel it. The formless din of the city and roads nearby, people moving through life like the world hadn’t just tilted on its axis, was a comfortless soundtrack to Goku’s racing thoughts. He stared at the mass of containers in front of them, lit only by haphazard lights in between the shipping crates.

 

“He’s not going to be waiting for me in the container, he wants _me_ to wait there like a sitting duck,” Goku said tonelessly, after Piccolo dropped his phone call and glanced his way. He hadn’t heard a word the sergeant had said, so focused was he at the situation at hand.

 

Ever since he washed up on the beaches of Papaya Island, he’d been living on borrowed time, anyway.

 

Time was up.

 

“You gotta let me go there on my own,” Goku found himself saying, staring straight ahead.

 

“Korzen—”

 

“It’s _me_ he wants. Let me distract him enough for you to find the boy,” Goku went on. Piccolo bared his teeth, clearly frustrated.

 

“You really are brain dead if you think I’m going to let a civilian face a _professional killer_ on his own,” Piccolo said sharply. “You have _no clue_ what being a cop means.”

 

“The boy—”

 

“Is still alive,” Piccolo said bluntly.

 

Goku could only focus on one word: _still._

 

Like a temporary, nebulous status.

 

“Get your head out of your ass. The plan doesn’t change. I know that the stakes _seem_ higher because instead of Briefs, it’s your—”

 

“He’s a _child!_ The stakes _are_ higher,” Goku interrupted angrily. Why was Piccolo so cold about this? Was the sergeant really that _heartless?_ Piccolo pressed his lips together, shaking his head.

 

“I’m not fucking ignorant, I know that! In the end, it’s still the same _exchange._ Don’t fall for the obvious manipulation tactic. He has something, we have something.”

 

“But—”

 

“We’re on the same team, asshole,” Piccolo broke in, his patience clearly spent. “Stop trying to argue and waste time. This is the best way to make sure the boy _lives_. You need to get it together.”

 

Goku clenched and unclenched his fists.

 

Piccolo abruptly grasped his shoulders and shook him slightly. “ _Get it together_.”

 

Without further preamble, Piccolo dropped his hands and fetched the gun from his holster. Goku followed suit, giving Piccolo a terse but determined nod.

 

Piccolo ground out a sigh and both armed men cautiously entered the unknown.

 

It only took a few short moments before they reached a juncture. Tell-tale yellow police tape around what seemed to be a normal grouping of containers clearly highlighted their final destination.

 

And _he_ was _here_.

 

Goku could feel it. A tingling sensation began to crawl up his skin, not unlike when he hunted on Papaya Island… except both predator and prey were heavily armed.

 

It was also difficult to determine who was predator, who was prey.

 

“We’re here,” Goku declared loudly and he winced at how tense his own voice was. “ _I’m_ here. Now let the kid go!”

 

Silence greeted them.

 

For only a moment.

 

_Tap tap tap—_

 

Goku swung around at the sound of footsteps on metal, his gun drawn and ready. Piccolo followed suit, craning his head to review their surroundings. Goku’s insides clenched, his legs braced and ready to sprint.

 

The tingling sensation crescendoed to a buzzing and Goku found himself reflexively jerking up.

 

—and there _he_ was, the Prince, standing on top of a shipping container. Goku still couldn’t make out his features, since light shone behind him. His crossed-arms stance made an imposing silhouette, especially as his hair rose like a small flame.

 

“Where’s the boy?” Goku demanded through clenched teeth.

 

“I had this idea that you’d up and faked your death so you could play happy families with your whore. I’ve since been corrected. Very odd.”

 

Goku’s frown deepened. Goku had no idea what the Prince was talking about. The Prince was clearly trying to be insulting, obliquely referencing Chi-Chi in manner that was _most_ disrespectful.

 

“You look like a fucking clown, by the way,” the Prince went on, gesturing at Goku’s blond hair, before crossing his arms once more. Goku shook his head in disbelief. Was this guy trying to be _funny?_ It was an uncomfortable mix of familiarity and hostility.

 

It was clear they had a history.

 

“You hand over the kid unharmed and we have something to offer you,” Piccolo broke in, his firearm trained directly at the Prince.

 

“Ah, sergeant. It’s nice to see you again.” The Prince almost sounded pleasant.

 

Goku angled a sharp glance at the tall man at his side quickly, surprised, before turning his gaze back to the Prince. Goku had been under the impression that _he_ had been the only contact for this entire undercover mission. But, clearly, the Prince recognized Piccolo for _exactly_ who he was.

 

“Look, fair is fair. I’m here, we did what you asked,” Goku pointed out angrily. “Give us the boy.”

 

“Fair?” the Prince echoed. His voice dropped several decibels and along with it, the temperature in the atmosphere. The tingling sensation started again and Goku swallowed the tightness pushing against his throat.

 

“ _Fair?”_ the Prince repeated, his arms uncrossing to hang stiffly by his sides, his fists clenched. “You want to talk _fair?!”_

 

Wind whipped violently around them, as if the deranged man on the metal container conjured the weather to fit his increasing agitation. It took all of Goku’s courage not to step back.

 

“Life’s not fucking fair, boo hoo for you!” Piccolo interrupted suddenly, making Goku wince. “But when you’re done crying like a little bitch, maybe you’d like to hear how _you’re_ going to help _us_ take down Frieza.”

 

The Prince gave a slightly startled laugh. “Are you _delusional_?”

 

“What do you _think_ Kakarrot’s been up to these past five years?”

 

Internally, they’d decided that Goku’s disappearance was tied to his investigation to take down Frieza. It _was_ the most plausible explanation. Even though they didn’t have much, it was _some_ thing with a kernel of truth. Goku had been close five years ago. It was the most obvious reason he’d almost been killed.

 

The Prince’s head didn’t turn, but Goku saw the whites of his eyes shift toward him.

 

“This is a waste of time.”

 

Without warning, the ground shook, and for a split second, Goku thought that the Prince was possessed with demonic powers, able to manipulate the elements. The metal container the Prince stood on groaned and creaked. Goku realized too late that the Prince had a device in his hand, some sort of remote —

 

Then there was a child’s scream, piercing through metal grinding noise, as the crane above began to lift the container off the ground.

 

“You want the boy?!” The Prince was shouting now — a roar — to be heard over the din. Gohan’s screams continued, and it was then Goku realized it was coming _from inside in the container!_

 

“ _Christ!_ ” Piccolo shouted in alarm, his head whipping around to make sense of the chaotic turn of events. Shots fired, and Goku realized it was Piccolo shooting at the Prince.

 

 _Do something!_ Goku’s brain screamed at him, but everything was happening too quickly. Goku stood frozen in terror.

 

The container swung wildly.

 

“ _Come and get him!”_

 

The Prince flew.

 

Piccolo leapt.

 

Then pandemonium.

 

_._

_._

_._

 

_Now, Wukong Hospital…_

 

Bulma wasn’t surprised when she woke up hooked up to a drip in a darkened hospital room. She wondered idly which of her staff picked her up and cleaned up her mess… she was in nothing but her panties and a hospital gown. She groaned as she sat up, touching her temple gingerly.

 

She felt like utter shit.

 

How much time had passed?

 

Was Chi-Chi okay?

 

She took a deep breath and pulled off the drip — it was just electrolytes and vitamins, after all. Basically Gatorade to her veins. Even though she was kidnapped, drugged, and traumatized, the most she really showed for it was a couple of bruises and a tiny headache, mostly due to exhaustion and dehydration.

 

She glanced around and decided she was going to find a goddamn phone. The ride straight to the hospital, she was wrapped like a burrito in that stupid blanket, thinking she was some sort of hysterical woman. They refused to listen to her demands for a phone call.

 

Well, she _had been_ hysterical, but for good reason. She needed to call Chi-Chi to check she was all right and her dad to tell him _she_ was all right.

 

And a lawyer. Probably a lawyer, too.

 

She pondered when exactly did she pass out. Was it when she rushed the ER reception desk to grab a phone? Or when that didn’t work, she’d spied someone’s smartphone… did a fucking cop knock her out when she’d try to make a grab for that?

 

Hm, definitely need to call a lawyer, too.

 

Regardless, the end result was Bulma Briefs somehow blacked out and was now in a hospital room.

 

She knew that since it was the middle of the night that unless she was a major trauma patient, a nurse or doctor wouldn’t be scheduled to check on her until morning. So, she swung her legs to the side and crept out the room, determined to get a phone call.

 

Goddamn, it was crazy how much her life was tethered to her smartphone!

 

She was halfway down the hall when she felt someone palm her butt.

 

What the _hell_ was going on these past few hours!? Could Bulma Briefs not get a break?!

 

Immediately, she whirled around and grabbed the wrist of the offender and nearly flipped the man when she realized who it was.

 

“Mr. Roshi,” Bulma groaned, dropping the old man’s wrist immediately. “You _cannot_ go around molesting random women in the hospital, okay? How many times do I have to tell you that?”

 

“Oh, my sweet Bulma! I had no idea that was you! All I saw was a beautiful set of pins and a round bottom. I thought you were another patient,” the elderly man said, batting his eyes, his tone dripping with extra syrupy sweetness. While everyone on staff had a zero-tolerance harassment policy, Mr. Roshi had become a fixture the past few months in their hospital.

 

He was in the latter stages of dementia, but had moments of extreme clarity and he exuded a lot of charm when he did. They often found him in Emergency since he wandered the halls of the hospital and was really clever at escaping hospital security and scrutiny. Bulma suspected it was because he actually _favored_ the female staff in the ER; he had mentioned how they were the best looking workers, even covered in blood and guts.

 

As his dementia progressed, Bulma suspected he was just going as _routine_ now. To have some sense of normalcy and schedule. It made most everyone at the ER pity him a little, and led them to be _much_ more tolerant of the elderly man than with other patients.

 

“ _All_ random women are off-limits, Mr. Roshi,” Bulma said wryly, rolling her eyes. “Staff _and_ patients. Now go take the elevator back to the fourth floor please.”

 

The old man jutted his lower lip and crossed his arms pouting. “It’s too loud. So much shouting.”

 

Bulma’s lips twisted in sympathy. The psych ward probably wasn’t pleasant at the best of times. “What if I walk you back and ask Dr. Malaka to rein in some of the patients on the floor, okay?”

 

“So noisy,” Mr. Roshi mumbled.

 

When Bulma finally made it to the fourth floor reception, the night nurse Eclair gave her the most hilarious double take. Bulma knew she must look like a total mess in her hospital gown, like she belonged in the ward alongside Mr. Roshi.

 

“What happened?” Eclair breathed as she rounded the desk.

 

“He wandered around again. Oh, you mean me? Long story,” Bulma said, with a feigned air of casualness. She didn’t really want to go on a long diatribe when she was still trying to parse what happened herself.

 

She was really good at compartmentalizing.

 

“This night just gets crazier and crazier,” Eclair muttered as she grasped Mr. Roshi’s elbow. Normally, Bulma would beg off back to the ER by now, but something about Eclair’s tone piqued her curiosity.

 

“What do you mean?” Bulma asked, trailing beside Eclair as they walked toward the elder section of the ward with Mr. Roshi humming to himself.

 

“We’ve had federal agents coming in and out of this ward non-stop for the past few hours.”

 

Bulma’s eyes widened. “Yeah?”

 

“Something _big_ happened… all very hush-hush, of course. Someone important _died_ tonight _…_ ”

 

Bulma’s heart began to race.

 

“ _Who_ died?”

 

Eclair shrugged. “I don’t know much. I didn’t really see anything, but there was a lot of yelling.”

 

“So loud...” Mr. Roshi whined.

 

Eclair leaned toward her conspiratorially when they finally reached Mr. Roshi’s room. “But from what I heard… some sort of visiting prince was assassinated.”

 

Bulma nearly tripped over her own slippered feet. “Wh-what?”

 

_It couldn’t be…_

 

Eclair shrugged. “Something about revenge. That’s as far as I heard. Wild, huh?”

 

Bulma’s skin prickled. It would be too much of a coincidence, wouldn’t it?

 

The thought of _him_ dead… it didn’t fill her with the glee that she expected to feel.

 

“Anyway, here you are, Mr. Roshi. Please don’t go wandering off again. We don’t like to lock our patients in, okay?” Eclair went on kindly, oblivious to Bulma’s far-off gaze. Mr. Roshi nodded enthusiastically, promising to be good.

 

Bulma had since tuned them out, focused instead on her racing thoughts.

 

She had to find out _for sure_ who died.

 

“Who would know more?” Bulma found herself asking. Eclair stared at her in surprise as she closed the room’s door.

 

“Know more about what?”

 

“The prince — or, uh, who died,” Bulma amended as they walked back toward reception.

 

Eclair’s brows rose. “… Dr. Malaka maybe? He’s head of this entire department after all. But like I said, it’s all classified. You know how these things go, when it’s a high-profile patient. Why so curious?”

 

Bulma affected a nonchalant shrug. “I like to know what’s going on in my hospital.”

 

“Well, Dr. Malaka doesn’t get back until noon tomorrow, so I doubt you’re going to get answers tonight. Anyway, what’s _your_ story? Are you okay?” Eclair gave her hospital gown a pointed look, raising a brow.

 

Bulma waved a hand. “Embarrassing bender. I’m good.”

 

At Eclair’s tinkling laugh, she knew the woman believed her excuse. It wasn’t much of a secret that Bulma Briefs liked to party, though this _was_ the first time she would be admitted in the hospital for such extravagance.

 

“Ah, to be young again,” the older woman sighed, shaking her head with mild reproach. “You’ve got to take better care of yourself though, Bulma, if it got you to the hospital.”

 

“Yeah, you’re right, I’m _not_ as young as I used to be,” Bulma allowed with a wide, convincing smile. Eclair moved back behind her station and they both nodded their good-byes.

 

However, once Bulma was sure Eclair wasn’t looking, she turned a corner and went straight back to the ward’s hallways. She _had_ to find out what was going on. She had to _verify_ her suspicions...

 

Was her captor dead?

 

_._

_._

_._

 


	19. Chapter 19

_Two hours ago, at the docks…_

 

 

Chi-Chi was done being pushed to the sidelines.

 

Her son needed her and she knew _exactly_ where things were going down. Law enforcement had failed to protect her family. She no longer cared that this was all meant to be hush-hush. She regretted not calling her father for help sooner, as she was too busy being a good pawn to the police.

 

When her baby was born, Papa had gifted her a safe with a handgun inside — at the time, Chi-Chi was horrified and didn’t want the offensive weapon in her home. She was only _slightly_ grateful that she had some sort of weapon now, but she was nervous since she hadn’t fired anything in _years._

 

Still, what else could she do?

 

She couldn’t just sit at home knowing a monster had her child, and she did’t trust that Kakarrot and Piccolo could bring him home. Her son was _her_ responsibility.

 

Which was how she found herself staring in horror at the dock’s entrance. Her eyes raised at a crane whirling around while the figure of a man dangled from an open ledge at the front of a shipping container.

 

Oh, god was that Kakarrot?! What the hell was going on!?

 

As her feet drove her closer to the scene, she recognized her little boy’s screams.

 

“ _Gohan!_ ” Chi-Chi shrieked in terror as she got closer, realizing that the dangling man was none other than Sgt. Piccolo! But where the _hell_ was Kakarrot?!

 

Piccolo grunted in surprise and she saw him briefly look back down before struggling to maintain his grip.

 

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” he exclaimed.

 

“Oh my god, how do I stop this? How do I put you guys down?!” Chi-Chi shouted back, her eyes darting about as her hands raised to her hair in frustration.

 

“ _Mama?! Mama! Help mama, help!”_

 

“Gohan, d-don’t worry, I’ll get you out of there—”

 

“ _Fuck_. You need to—argh, shit,” Piccolo spat, trying to gain purchase on the ledge, but it was still swinging and groaning. Every time it looked like he was about to pull himself up, the metal container lurched. Chi-Chi was amazed that Piccolo still had _some_ sort of grip on the thing.

 

She snapped out of her daze at the next scream from her child and her eyes frantically followed the crane’s shape. There seemed to be a cabin up top... and a long ladder leading up to it. There had to be a switch there, a way to stop all motion!

 

“Okay, okay, I’m going up to the… the _thing_ , don’t worry!” Chi-Chi called, waving toward the cabin, though she wasn’t sure if Piccolo heard or noticed her, as he was still trying to desperately pull himself up and _into_ the shipping crate.

 

Chi-Chi raced to the base of the crane and began a swift ascent up the metal ladder.

 

.

.

.

 

Goku’s head whipped to the side, recognizing Chi-Chi scream out Gohan’s name.

 

That was a mistake.

 

Blood filled his mouth as a freight train hit the side of his face. He reared back as pain reverberated through his being. He braced himself _just enough_ to not fall on the ground in a heap.

 

_What in the world was she doing here?!_

 

He’d been successful thus far with pulling the Prince away from Gohan. He trusted Piccolo’s ability to take the boy and get him away from this entire scene. That was Goku’s top priority the moment the Prince descended on him like a demon from the sky.

 

Which was why he’d _run_ almost immediately.

 

He knew that startled the Prince. Clearly, he expected him to fight back, not _run_ or simply defend himself. Goku knew that his life was on the line and he was not holding back one bit, but most of his attacks were defensive in nature. He needed to make sure that the Prince was distracted long enough for Piccolo to get out with the boy alive.

 

Goku jumped back and spat the metallic-tasting liquid from his mouth, trying to gain his bearings.

 

“Pathetic,” the Prince said, his tone dripping with disdain as he circled Goku. His face was twisted in a snarl, and though the docks were poorly lit, Goku could clearly discern anger and hatred from every angle in his face.

 

And his eyes… they were hard as coal.

 

No one had _ever_ looked at him in such a way. Piccolo’s grimaces were downright affectionate in comparison.

 

Goku blocked another flurry of fists and knees, barely keeping up. It was odd, very odd, that the Prince’s first order of business was ridding Goku of his gun, lost in the fray — this guy was _fast —_ opting for the visceral violence of flesh and bone. Goku tried to disarm him, too, but was unable to gain enough momentum to grasp the weapon from his holster.

 

While the man was several inches shorter, it didn’t seem to matter in the battlefield. Goku’s reach advantage meant nothing when the Prince seemed to have expert knowledge of how to hurt the body.

 

Goku anticipated the next swing, dodging just in time. He whipped his arm out to push him away defensively, but the momentum was more than he anticipated. He slammed the Prince against the side of a nearby shipping container.

 

The man cried out on impact. Goku almost felt compelled to apologize. He didn’t actually _mean_ to—

 

“I’m going to _destroy_ you!” The Prince was the _embodiment_ of fury.

 

Goku didn’t have time to react when the man launched himself at him, causing him to topple to the unforgiving ground. He saw stars as his head banged against the solid surface, the pain causing his hands to fall to his sides. The Prince was kneeling on him now, pummeling his face relentlessly.

 

“You traitor, you stupid rat,” the Prince ranted. Goku tried to cover his face, but he was _hurt_ , it was hard to think, hard to move. From the weight of his blows, Goku wouldn’t be surprised if the Prince suddenly declared that his bones were set in concrete.

 

“You deserve to die!” the Prince went on, spitting at him as he yelled. “Not just for _me_ , but for _everyone_. You disgust me, you dishonorable piece of shit!”

 

Goku felt a surge of anger.

 

He didn’t know what he did in the past, but he knew he was the _furthest_ from dishonorable!

 

He bucked and raised his elbows to block further blows, twisting to the side to escape. The Prince tried to grab him in a lock, but Goku anticipated that and pushed his forearm against the Prince’s neck. While Goku was a large man, he was rather flexible and while he had his forearm pressed against the Prince, he whipped his leg around around his neck to choke him out.

 

Just as Goku was trying to gather his other leg to lock the choke, the Prince roared and punched him with his free arm to push him away.

 

Both men scrambled back up to their feet.

 

Goku shook with adrenaline, blood dripping down the sides of his face. His head hurt _so bad_ and he barely could focus on the man in front of him, but he _had_ to focus, had to give Piccolo time to get away with Gohan. And now Chi-Chi.

 

 _Oh, Chi-Chi, why are you here?_ he thought with a pang.

 

He still had to distract the Prince. He had no idea what was going on the other side of the crates but he was going to give them as much time as he was capable. Goku could only dimly notice that he’d managed to draw blood from the Prince, probably when he kicked his leg around to choke him, he’d bashed his heel against his face.

 

The Prince wiped his mouth and spat to the side, not unlike Goku earlier.

 

“Why do you hate me so much?” Goku blurted out in between breaths.

 

The Prince’s eyes widened a fraction, clearly surprised at the question, enough to jump back.

 

“Are you kidding me?” the Prince snapped.

 

“Would it help if I apologized? Because I’m sorry.”

 

Goku was trying to grasp at anything that would resonate. Goku knew he was fading, but had to draw this fight out longer to give Piccolo time to handle Chi-Chi and Gohan. He had no clue what his past self did to get to this scale of madness, he knew it must have been bad. While it was hard to reconcile with who he was now, he’d learned enough about what people perceived of him to be that he understood he was capable of bad things.

 

The man he was fighting actually looked flabbergasted at his words.

 

“That’s what you have to say for yourself?” the Prince ground out. “ _I’m sorry?_ ”

 

“Prince, please” Goku said, practically prostrating himself. He wanted this to be _over_. If it took to begging, he didn’t care. As long as Gohan, Chi-Chi, and Piccolo came out safe.

 

The Prince took a step back and narrowed his eyes. “What did you call me?”

 

“Whatever problem you have with me, it doesn’t matter. I want to help you now. Let me help you,” Goku went on, trying to go back to the plan, to appeal to some sort of self-preservation and selfishness. He raised his hands in a surrender type of position. “We could help you disappear. We can take down Frieza.”

 

The Prince shook his head rapidly.

 

“ _Enough._ Answer my question. What did you call me?”

 

Goku blinked at him. That was what he was concerned about?

 

“Prince?”

 

The man in question took another step back and stared at him silently for a beat.

 

The gun, almost forgotten at the Prince’s side, was suddenly in his grip, the barrel pointed directly at Goku.

 

“Who the hell are you?” the Prince spat.

 

Goku’s eyes widened.

 

.

.

.

 

Chi-Chi felt her limbs shake as she climbed higher and higher up the crane. She wasn’t necessarily afraid of heights but she wasn’t used to this level of danger, plus the night’s wind was whipping around her relentlessly. Her limbs and hands ached as she gripped each step like her life depended on it.

 

Like _Gohan’s_ life depended on it.

 

She could still hear his crying down below.

 

She finally reached the top cabin ledge and grit her teeth as another blast of cold air hit her, her hair snarling around her face. As she approached the cabin door, for a split second, she was paralyzed with panic. What if the cabin was locked!?

 

Fortunately, the gods were smiling down on her and the door opened with ease.

 

She stared at the controls frantically, all of it a confusing blur of knobs and buttons. There had to be some _emergency_ turn-off switch somewhere!

 

Was this it? No?

 

Or that?

 

The crane abruptly swung, causing Chi-Chi to scream when she heard Piccolo shout and Gohan’s crying turn louder. She immediately moved the lever back where it was.

 

Where was the _emergency—_

 

The red button. It had to be the red button, right?

 

“Oh god, oh god, oh god.” Chi-Chi felt tears fill her eyes. She didn’t want to make this worse! But she was out of choices. It _did_ say “Emergency” above it. Without further preamble, she slammed her palm down the red button.

 

The crane made a groaning noise…

 

... and slowly, very slowly, movement stopped.

 

She did it.

 

_She did it!_

 

She ran to the window and gasped when she saw nothing. Where was Piccolo? Did he fall? Was he okay? For a few horrifying moments, all Chi-Chi could do was stare helplessly at the suspended crate.

 

The silence was torture.

 

She logically understood that only a few minutes had passed but it felt like hours until she saw Sgt. Piccolo poke his head out. A smaller head — in what seemed to be a bicycle helmet? — joined him.

 

Chi-Chi immediately burst into tears when Piccolo whipped his arm out, his fist in a thumbs up gesture.

 

Any semblance of relief, however, dissipated when gunfire abruptly tore through the atmosphere.

 

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those curious, [here's a shipping crane example.](https://thumbs.dreamstime.com/z/shipping-industry-crane-07-6718573.jpg)


	20. Chapter 20

_Now, Wukong Hospital..._

 

Despite Mr. Roshi’s frequent “escapes,” the psych ward was one of the higher security wings of the hospital. So even if the patient in question had no mental health issues, if they required a higher level of discretion, this floor was where it was contained.

 

That meant politicians, celebrities and criminals.

 

Bulma knew she had to be extra diligent.

 

Fortunately, she _was_ a doctor of the hospital and naturally had access codes to almost all areas of the hospital. While she didn’t have a security badge on her at the moment, Wukong was a massive, older hospital that still had had entire wings _without_ the latest security. Some doors, especially doctor lounges and lockers, had a mix of card and button access since it was a “low security” area and didn’t need to be retrofitted with harder to hack access points.

 

Which was how she was able to change into a set of spare set of doctor scrubs and white coat. She still didn’t have an access card, but that could be explained away easily.

 

She waited a bit until she saw Eclair leave the reception on break — night shift cycles were rather predictable. While normally the person replacing Eclair would meet her at the desk, since it was evening, staff sometimes were napping at the break room and had to be notified. Since security personnel were already at the front, the five minute exchange wasn’t blinked at.

 

And there was less to blink at when it was a _doctor_ hovering at reception to check schedules and patient intake…

 

… still, Bulma had to work fast as she scanned Eclair’s open computer calendar.

 

She darted glances above the computer monitor and back down to check if there were any odd intakes between midnight and three in the morning.

 

J. Doe. 1:53 am. Room 444.

 

 _Bingo_ , Bulma thought.

 

She quickly scanned to see if there were any logged deaths in the manifest, but she heard the shuffling steps of an oncoming night nurse. She jerked up and tried as casually as possible to walk away from reception toward the bank of rooms that may have the answers she wanted.

 

She kept her head and eyes straight, her pace normal as a couple nightshift workers passed her at the hall. She gave them a barely perceptible nod, as expected, as she continued onward. Act as normal as possible, just like the Emergency floor, Bulma told herself. She was a doctor at the hospital so no one seemed to second-guess her presence.

 

The hospital thrummed with the sounds of machines beeping, the air circulating. She could hear quiet murmurs in the distance, movement, patient breaths. Her senses felt incredibly heightened. She could discern the slight buzz from the incandescent light bulbs, her footsteps, and the _ba-dump_ of her heart as her uneasiness increased the closer she got to the bank of rooms she was headed toward.

 

She turned—

 

— and almost immediately went back against the corner, her hand against her chest.

 

Jesus, there were _two_ large guards standing at the doorway down the hall.

 

She didn’t need to be a genius to deduce _that_ was Room 444. Why would there be a need for such heavy guard in the middle of the night? But genius or not, she was scrambling to think of reasons to get past the men. She craned her neck and snuck another peek over the corner.

 

 _Think, Briefs, think,_ she thought to herself. She looked at her surroundings as her mind raced at various possibilities. How could she get those guards away from the door?

 

Serendipitously, her eyes landed on a phone mounted on a wall.

 

The _emergency_ phone.

 

She made a beeline to the device and dialed quickly.

 

“Hi, this is Nurse Eclair in Level 4,” Bulma said without hesitation over the receiver. “I have a Code Orange, hazardous spill. We need an evac for corridor 425-450 while we try to contain the situation. Please notify all authorized personnel. Thank you.”

 

She hung up and quickly went back to the corner to peer around and see how the guards reacted.

 

Within moments, both guards’ phones pinged and she saw them reach over to review the notification. As the lowered their heads to read their messages, Bulma turned the corner and strode confidently toward them.

 

Immediately, the men turned their head at the noise. She kept her chin up, proud at her unwavering steps and demeanor, even though she saw them grasp the side of their hip, clearly fingering their weapons.

 

But only for a moment.

 

After they both gave her the most obvious once-over, they’d dropped their hands and their beefy faces already looked condescending.

 

When Bulma was younger, she absolutely _hated_ that reaction; the sexist assumption of her weakness due to her gender and her beauty. But, years and experience eventually taught her to simply use those thoughts to her advantage. Being underestimated often led to the downfall to many of her enemies.

 

“Hello, gentlemen, I’m Dr. Briefs,” Bulma said brusquely. “A hazardous spill has been reported and all personnel must leave the premises right away.”

 

“There’s a patient—” one of them began but Bulma waved him away impatiently.

 

“Yes, of course,” Bulma said sharply, her mouth moving as fast as her brain was thinking of excuses. “That’s why Dr. Malaka sent me to tend to him while we still have access to hospital equipment during the evacuation. Surely _one_ guard is enough outside while the other heads to the basement for the mobile hospital bed with security bindings?”

 

The two guards exchanged uncertain looks.

 

“We’re wasting time, we have to leave so that the HAZMAT team can properly do their job, and for me to deal with the patient,” Bulma went on.

 

Almost on cue, the intercom pinged and quietly intoned: “Code Orange. Code Orange.”

 

Bulma smiled internally, pleased with the timing.

 

“All right, I’ll go get the hospital bed, then,” one guard said finally. The other shrugged and looked at Bulma.

 

“Okay, I’ll escort you into the—”

 

“Doctor-patient confidentiality prohibits unauthorized personnel in the same room during examination. Unless you’re his wife?” Bulma added with a sardonic drawl. The guard beside him snickered.

 

“What’re you waiting for? Go get the secure bed!” the insulted guard snapped at the other who shrugged and headed toward the elevators.

 

“This man is dangerous, you need an escort in the room,” the guard insisted, blocking Bulma’s way when she made a grab at the door handle.

 

“He’s injured and you’re armed less than ten feet away. I highly doubt anything will happen in ten minutes,” Bulma went on, crossing her arms imperiously. “This is all a waste of time and Dr. Malaka will be very displeased if I wasn’t able to do my examination properly before you are all evacuated.”

 

The remaining guard’s eyes narrowed, searching her face.

 

The intercom pinged again: “Code Orange. Code Orange.”

 

Bulma let out an impatient sigh and waved at the door. The guard rolled his eyes and shrugged.

 

“I’ll be right outside. Don’t hesitate to scream if anything happens,” the man warned.

 

Bulma tried to ignore the sliver of fear that hit her.

 

What if this wasn’t who she thought it was? What if it was someone more dangerous?

 

Like the man she was looking for wasn’t the epitome of danger? she thought to herself dryly.

 

Still, she was’t going to waste time. She would know soon enough.

 

Without further ado, Bulma grabbed the door handle and entered the room.

 

_._

_._

_._

 

Goku was dreaming.

 

He always knew he was in a dream because _she_ was in them — the raven haired woman. This was a sad dream, though… she was upset, he could tell, even though he couldn’t _quite_ make out her features and her expression. It was the way she was grasping his arm, pulling at him. He could see her lips form words, but no sound was coming out.

  
But he could tell she was sad.

 

It’s okay, he tried to tell her, though he was unsure if that was true. All he knew was the woman was upset and it _hurt — it hurt him._ It felt like his chest was caving in itself.

 

_Your chest hurts because you’ve been shot._

 

Goku started.

 

_Yes, I hear you, I hear you. It’s going to be okay._

 

Is it, though? he wondered. His life was falling apart, he should have listened to Grampy, the islanders, should have kept the past in the past…

 

He was dying, wasn’t he?

 

 _No, no, you’re fine. You’re_ going _to be fine. The bullet didn’t go through. You were wearing a vest._

 

His cheek suddenly felt wet and he realized that she was crying and pressing her face against his.

 

Wait, this felt _real…_ he breathed in and smelled a hint of lavender from her hair and a touch of spice he couldn’t quite place. In his dreams, every sensation felt numb and disconnected — but _now_ she felt solid and warm.

 

His fingers twitched and he was confused at the compulsion to reach out and touch her. Was her skin as soft as it looked?

 

He jerked away, alarmed at his train of thought.

 

_Sorry, sorry, I’m— I’ll— you’re all right now, I should go. Leave you to rest._

 

Something akin to panic gripped him. He didn’t want to be left alone.

 

_Oh! I… okay. A little longer. But I have to take Gohan home soon. He’s exhausted._

 

The name pierced his consciousness. Gohan…

 

… Grampy? Wait.

 

No.

 

Gohan.

  
Chi-Chi’s son.

 

He blinked.

 

 _Chi-Chi’s_ son.

 

He focused his attention to the woman hovering over him, who was now clutching at his hand. He furrowed his brows.

 

“Chi-Chi?” he rasped.

 

_Yes?_

 

“Chi-Chi,” he echoed in numb shock.

 

Like a veil slowly being lifted, the vision hovering over him began to sharpen. The first to clear were her eyes, large and dark, wide with concern. Then her nose, her lips… he blinked rapidly. How could he have missed this…? Right in front of him…?

 

Without thinking, he raised his hand to brush her bangs away to get a closer look.

 

 _She_ — after all this time— it was—

 

The sweet apples of her cheeks reddened at his touch. He drew back, as if burnt.

 

_He could feel her._

 

He wasn’t dreaming…!

 

Chi-Chi.

 

“Yes?” she repeated, those large, red-rimmed eyes reflecting a growing confusion.

 

His eyes darted all over her face, down the swan-like expanse of her neck and that mole by her clavicle. He _recognized_ the way her hair flowed down her shoulders, leading to the gentle swell of her breasts over her tight sweater—

 

He swallowed hard as her tremulous fingers caressed his face so _familiarly._ He… he _remembered_ this. The way she touched his face, her _scent…_

 

All of a sudden, the events of the last few hours came rushing back like a tidal wave, crashing over him relentlessly.

 

The docks. The fight. The gun. Gohan.

 

_Gohan._

 

“He’s right here, but we really should go,” Chi-Chi murmured, looking behind her at a small figure in a cot. “He’s okay. A couple bruises and a little scared, but he’ll be fine. I hope.”

 

Gohan, Gohan.

 

He was missing something about Gohan.

 

A flash of his fight with Prince sparked in his mind and he saw the angry man’s mouth move, but Goku couldn’t make out his words. His head throbbed, frustration and pain piercing him. He was _missing something._

 

He was missing a _lot_ of things. He concentrated but nothing came to the surface. As he tried to force his mind to focus, Chi-Chi’s face began to blur, resembling the ghost in his dreams once more. Exhaustion seeped through him with the effort to think.

 

“Rest. I… I’ll be back tomorrow, okay?” she said, sounding so far away.

 

Goku wanted to beg her to stay but his limbs felt heavy and he was tired… so tired. She was still talking to him but each word was starting to sound more faint as oblivion welcomed him with open arms.

 

_._

_._

_._

 

Bulma wasn’t sure what she had expected… but it wasn’t this.

 

Sure, there was a fleeting moment of… _satisfaction?_ She wasn’t sure really what to call the moment her suspicions were confirmed that, yes, the man who’d drugged and kept her in a dank container, was the unconscious figure on the hospital bed.

 

There’d been a jolt through veins, her fists clenching in anticipation, as she approached his side. She remembered thinking, _You motherfucker_ , in an almost giddy manner.

 

He’d got what was coming to him.

 

He looked half-dead, matter of fact.

 

It was a startling scene:

 

He was on his back, his limbs strapped down like medieval times; though, the shackles holding down his arms and feet weren’t uncommon at hospitals. They were necessary for some medical procedures to keep a patient still. Or, most likely to assure hospital staff or the patient’s safety.

 

How do _you_ like being tied up? Bulma thought, bitterly.

 

As anger surged through her, a dark thought flitted through her periphery. She could _hurt_ him — _end him —_ and he wouldn’t be able to stop her. He was a criminal, he’d threatened her _and_ her dearest friend. He was a waste of space.

 

And yet, as she continued to observe him, her empathetic side, the one that made her a great doctor, was crying out. He looked so pale and broken, the bruised and swollen flesh marring the normally arresting angles of his face. The line between his brows was deep and even in repose, his lips dipped downward, like he was in grave pain.

 

She quickly looked at the drip beside his bed. Morphine? He should be high, then, oblivious to whatever physical injuries he sustained. And yet, his face was screwed in clear unhappiness.

 

Throughout the entire ordeal, she’d seen him look arrogant and calm, except for the time she’d struggled against him and his eyes had glittered like dark gems. He hadn’t frowned; nay, he gave her the most unpleasant smiles instead.

 

Seeing him _this way_ was disconcerting.

 

It filled Bulma with inexplicable rage.

 

_How dare he look miserable!_

 

She shook her head to clear her jumbled thoughts and swirling emotions. As she moved, her gaze caught the jagged and torn skin on his knuckles. Without thinking, driven by her medical curiosity, she grasped his limp fingers to take a better look.

 

He’d fought someone with his bare hands.

 

“Slow or fast?”

 

Bulma gasped, jumping back nearly a feet.

 

His eyes were still closed, but Bulma knew that he was awake.

 

“Wh-what?” she managed, quickly taking stock of the room again, looking back at the closed door to remind herself a guard was stationed right outside.

 

“Slow… or fast?” he repeated, this time he opened his eyes. He still didn’t turn his head but Bulma knew he was addressing her directly.

 

“I don’t—” she began.

 

“Your plan to kill me. Slow or fast?” he clarified. Bulma blinked rapidly, barely believing her ears. “I’m curious.”

 

He sounded calm, not unlike how they’d spoken to each other the last time. But there was an edge there now, a roughness that wasn’t there before.

 

“I don’t…”

 

“Slow, then? I don’t see a syringe in your hand,” he said, his eyes angling toward her, though he kept his head still pointing ahead. “Syringe would be fast. A shot of potassium chloride to the drip. _Kind._ But you’re not as nice as I _thought_ you were, hm?” He let out a small chuckle which was quickly swallowed by a coughing fit.

 

Bulma could only stare at him dumbly, unsure of what to say or do next.

 

She really hadn’t thought too far beyond _finding_ him and confirming that he’d been the one who’d caused all the ruckus earlier in the evening.

 

“You’re not capable of mass murder, no, that’s why you quit your father’s employ,” he went on in the same tone, so familiar, like they’d known each other for years. “But one man… A man that _hurt_ you? Threatened your friends? That’s justifiable, right? A… belated self-defense, even?”

 

“Shut up,” Bulma snapped.

 

“Are you hiding a scalpel? No, I don’t think so. Too messy. You’d have to clean everything up. Suffocation, then?”

 

He was tapping his injured fingers against his binds now, almost meditatively, flicking each finger like he was ticking off scenarios in his twisted mind.

 

“Stop it!”

 

“That’s _it_. A pillow to the face would be really unpleasant,” he continued.

 

Then he turned his head and Bulma felt rooted to the spot as his gaze slowly raked over her. Bulma shivered, despite herself. She only _just_ prevented her arms from wrapping around herself protectively, since she was loathe to show how vulnerable she actually felt. She hadn’t anticipated this… this conversation.

 

She hadn’t anticipated being _confronted_ , her dark thoughts vocalized.

 

“But that’s _still_ too passive for Dr. Bulma Briefs, wouldn’t it?” He emphasized her entire name, like it was lyrics to a song. “You’re a woman of action. You need to do everything yourself. I guess there’s worse ways to die than a woman’s hands around my throat.”

 

Bulma’s fingertips tingled from the suggestion.

 

“Shut up. You’re _sick_. I’m not a killer. You don’t know me,” Bulma spat angrily, upset that he was getting to her. This was supposed to be _her_ show. She was supposed to be making _him_ squirm!

 

He hummed in response, a smile growing on his face. He winced slightly as the movement re-opened the cut on his lip, but he continued to stare at her in the most unnerving way, his lips curling into a grin. His eyes were glassy.

 

She quickly looked to his side, at his drip. Right. He was _high_ on morphine.

 

Though he was still naturally insane, Bulma thought to herself.

 

“I’m not going to kill you,” she found herself saying firmly. Meaning it.

 

“No?”

 

He lurched violently forward, the bed bucking and groaning under the force.

 

Bulma stumbled back and nearly choked on a scream, only last minute remembering that she had snuck in here and that if she let out a yell, the guard would come running in.

 

… but isn’t that what she should have wanted?

 

He started to laugh.

 

“You should,” he said in a tone that could only be identified as _goading_.

 

Once Bulma’s racing heart managed to get back to normal, it began to dawn to her that he meant it. There was something in the tense way he held himself, something _off_ in that arrogant twist of his lips. She’d seen that look on a few patients before, seeing her face, almost resentful that she’d taken care of them.

  
Resentful that she helped them live.

 

He didn’t _want_ to live.

 

This was a mistake, Bulma realized immediately.

 

She was in over her head; she wasn’t a psychopath out for blood, she didn’t take pleasure in hurting anyone — the brief revenge fantasy she’d mulled over was just that. Fantasy. When it came down to it, she was incapable of _knowingly_ hurting someone, especially when they were down.

 

It wasn’t in Bulma Briefs to be that hateful. Thinking and _doing_ were two separate things.

 

Whatever was going on, he was _done_ , law enforcement had him.

 

She didn’t need to deal with him any more.

 

She didn’t want to.

 

“I promised you that if I got out that I’d destroy you,” Bulma said finally as silence stretched. “But honestly, why bother? Waste of my time. You _already_ wish you were dead.”

 

He didn’t respond, simply looking at her quietly.

 

He didn’t deny her assertion, either, she noted.

 

“Pathetic,” she added and at that, his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. She turned to walk away, determined to bury this ordeal and her memories of their interactions. She already suspected she would require months of therapy to deal with this.

 

“My name is Vegeta,” he said suddenly, just as she reached the door.

 

Bulma nearly tripped over her slippered feet, startled at the abrupt revelation.

 

“Vegeta Szlachta,” he said, clearing his throat. She gaped at him as he tilted his head and lifted his shoulder as best he could under the circumstances. “I thought you should know.”

 

She opened her mouth to ask _why_ then thought better of it.

 

He was fucking with her again. That probably wasn’t even his name. She would Google it and something weird would come up, something that would disturb her, and she was _so_ not falling for that.

 

She glared at him one last time, before turning and walking straight out of the room.

 

.

.

.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I lied a few chapters ago about one of Chi-Chi's flashbacks being her last. This chapter just wouldn't escape me because in present time, Goku's _super close_ to regaining parts of his memory. I wanted to add a bit more context to their relationship. Also, I think all you readers have been chomping at the bit for sexy times, yes? Well.... sexy times ahead. ;-)

_Over five years ago…_

 

Chi-Chi sighed as she stepped out of the shower, idly toweling her hair. She had a long hospital shift and was looking forward to sleep — alone, of course — so she was utterly unprepared for the large figure slouched on the corner of her bed.

 

She froze in her steps, her eyes wide.

 

It was only when she noticed his eyes widen, too, that she realized that she was essentially standing like a wet, buck naked statue.

 

All at once, life returned to her limbs and she shrieked with a mixture of shock and embarrassment. She scrambled to secure the towel around her form. At the same time, he rose from the bed, his hands waving.

 

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Kakarrot choked out.

 

“Wh-what—? Oh my god, _get out!_ ” Her entire brain was scrambled. A week had passed since their one-night stand — but it was a night she’d filed away as a final _good-bye_ of sorts! Was he _insane?_

 

Neither of them had said a word the incredibly _awkward_ morning after.

 

In fact, no words were exchanged the _entire three hours_ back to West City except his mumbled “Thanks for the ride” when she dropped him off downtown by the mall. He hadn’t even specified where to go, she felt too weird to ask, so she had purposely chosen a random central area.

 

“I’m not here for sex,” he blurted out.

 

Part of her wanted the ground to swallow her whole in mortification, and the other part wanted to throw the lamp across the room to his stupid face. She hadn’t even _considered_ that yet — she’d only started to get used to the fact that she wasn’t alone in her own home, her bedroom.

 

“Sorry,” he repeated his hand going to his hair, as he averted his eyes, though she was now thoroughly wrapped in the towel. “I… I know it’s… I’m… I had a bad day.”

 

Chi-Chi blinked at him, shaking her head uncomprehendingly. That explained nothing.

 

She should kick him out. Call the police. He’d _broken into her home_. This was unacceptable — regardless of what they’d gone through, this was a violation of her space, her privacy. Who did he think he was? She opened her mouth to yell just that when his gaze went back to hers, so intense, robbing her of her next words.

 

“Please, I… I need a _friend_.”

 

Unexpectedly, Chi-Chi’s throat tightened at his quiet words.

 

“I don’t expect anything, but… can we hang out for a bit? Or something?” His voice was tense, the words stilted and odd. The expression on his face was foreign to her—the lack of pride and sarcasm, the _pleading_.

 

Try as she might, she couldn’t sense or read any artifice in his gaze.

 

… She was a goddamn sucker.

 

Chi-Chi clenched her jaw.

 

A fool.

 

She should throw him out.

 

His lips thinned as silence stretched.To her amazement, his neck and ears turned an interesting shade of red — _he_ was flustered! The man who teased her mercilessly and had zero sense of shame! It was a little disconcerting, to be honest.

 

He nodded jerkily. “Okay. Sorry for ruining your night. I’m going to—”

 

 _Go away_ , her brain screamed.

 

“Can you turn around while I get dressed?” her mouth said instead.

 

He blinked. Once. Twice.

 

She could almost _hear_ his thoughts: “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

 

Still, he turned around and vocalized nothing.

 

Once she was in her underwear and pajamas, she let out a shaky breath. She was proud at how normal she sounded when she said calmly, “Let’s watch some TV.”

 

The smile he flashed her was small, tremulous even, but it was enough for her traitorous heart to speed up. It was unfair how handsome he was. Unfair that her heart had the consistency of marshmallow.

 

“ _I’m_ choosing,” Chi-Chi went on briskly as she walked out the room. “I think Roh-Roh’s Drag Race is on.”

 

He managed an amused scoff before trailing quietly behind her.

 

.

.

.

 

 

Chi-Chi wasn’t sure if she was _quite_ surprised that three weeks later, she received a text.

 

A simple: _Hungry?_ from an unlisted number.

 

She remembered staring at it for a good fifteen minutes, knowing _exactly_ who it was, wondering how he seemed to know when it was the end of her shift. It disturbed her, to be honest. Had he been following her for a while? Clearly, he was a questionable person… but he seemed to respect the boundaries she set — once she set them.

 

When he’d come over to watch TV that one very odd evening, he’d been _very_ respectful. Hadn’t at all tried to touch her inappropriately and she could tell he had physically restrained himself from being _too_ sarcastic. All in all, he had been pleasant — even fun! — company. Who knew that a sober, uninjured Kakarrot was actually a tolerable presence!

 

When the night was over and he was about to leave, she told him in no uncertain terms that if he wanted to hang out again, to give her at least a courtesy text. He said at the time that he didn’t plan to see her again, that dropping by was a _one time_ thing…

 

… but the text glaring up at her said otherwise.

 

 _A little. —_ Chi-Chi

 

She groaned quietly to herself. She was a masochist. A _masochist!_

 

Five minutes later:

 

 _On my way with some pad thai. —_ Unknown

 

She expected maybe a twenty-minute reprieve, enough for her to wash her face and change from her scrubs into lounge clothes, so she was totally shocked to see Kakarrot stride in the kitchen barely ten minutes later. She’d seen it happen in movies and shows, but she’d never done a spit take of water until now — thankfully over her own sink.

 

“H- _how_ —?” Chi-Chi hadn’t heard the door open or a knock or _any_ thing. She observed he was wearing that dark suit of his, again, and the effect was definitely a delicious contrast to his casual t-shirt and jeans from the last time she saw him. And it also reminded her all too much of _that night…_.

 

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to,” he said, placing the bags of take out on the counter. “The long and short of it is I can’t be seen. I don’t want your neighbors to start noticing me coming and going from your front door.”

 

Chi-Chi took a moment to process that. “You… plan on coming by regularly?”

 

He angled her a quick glance but said nothing, continuing to unload the take-out. Chi-Chi swallowed a sigh and went and helped him with the rest of the bags.

 

“Should I be worried at how easy it is to break into my apartment?” she asked semi-seriously, as she set her table. He shrugged off his jacket, revealing his gun and holster — Chi-Chi immediately looked away, nervously. Last time he was over, he had been in t-shirt and jeans, no holster. Though, that didn’t mean he hadn’t tucked it away.

 

I am so stupid, she thought to herself. He really _was_ some sort of… well, it all pointed to him being a sort of “made man.” Mafia? Something similar? And yet, here she was answering mysterious texts, allowing him to technically break into her home, and eating _Thai take-out_ like it was a normal fucking Monday evening.

 

And he was treating her home _so familiarly_ , no awkwardness whatsoever in finding a plate, or even helping himself to a drink in the fridge.

 

But why wouldn’t he? She invited him in. He’d _lived with her_ for a month straight.

 

“Well, it’s a first floor apartment, so it’s the easiest thing to get into — but that’s with all first floor apartments. Yours isn’t any different,” he said. He swirled is fork around his pad thai, looking at her thoughtfully. “You should probably consider another apartment once your lease is up. And a fourth floor at least.”

 

Chi-Chi’s heart thudded. “So I _should_ be worried.”

 

“No, this is a low-risk neighborhood,” he said with a small laugh. “Your neighbors average at least $100K in family income, and the most you have here is property crime, if that.”

 

Chi-Chi blinked at him rapidly. He knew a _lot_ about her community. She’d chosen it mostly because it was clean, close to work, and affordable on her nurse’s salary. Despite all his perceptions of her _family_ being rich, she lived only on her nurse’s salary. Her father’s money — regardless of what Papa insisted — was his alone. Chi-Chi enjoyed her independence and she was a proud woman.

 

“Okay,” she said uncertainly.

 

He poked at his food and sighed, shaking his head. “I’m scaring you.”

 

“No, it’s not… well, it _sort of_...” she mumbled, reaching for the green curry and rice to keep her hands busy. She didn’t know what to tell him. She _was_ scared. The gun, the break ins… it was starting to sink in. She’d had enough time apart from him to reflect and realize how crazy this entire situation was.

 

Though she _had_ responded to that text. She was sure if she hadn’t, he would have left her alone.

 

He nodded slowly, his lips pursed, as her voice trailed off.

 

“All right, I’m… this is totally inappropriate. _I’ve_ been inappropriate,” he said finally. Sadness and regret tinged his tone, though he was smiling at her.

 

“Don’t you have anyone else to go to?” Chi-Chi asked frankly.

 

“If you’re asking if I have any friends, the answer’s no,” he said dryly. “Not in this line of work.”

 

“Oh,” she said quietly. She shoved a mouthful of noodles in her mouth, though she could barely taste it.

 

“Not your problem,” he said firmly, his eyes kind. “I’m… just glad that we had some time. You’re a great gal, Florence.”

 

There was something off in his tone, and to Chi-Chi’s amazement, she realized it was because he was struggling to keep it together. He cleared his throat and blinked rapidly, shoving the pad thai in his mouth not unlike what she’d done earlier.

 

Her heart squeezed, her empathetic heart feeling his pain. In his own twisted way, he really did seem to value her company a whole deal.

 

“You had another bad day?” she asked quietly.

 

“Life,” he said curtly.

 

She observed the droop of his shoulders as he made a show of eating the food he’d brought, the tense way he was holding himself, and the unmistakable sheen in his eyes…

 

“Whatever it is… can we go to the police and… and get you some help?” Chi-Chi ventured, tentatively reaching out to touch his forearm. He was warm and solid, but the way he was holding himself screamed that he was on the verge of _shattering…_ so she kept her touch light.

 

Her words seemed to amuse him a _lot_. “No, Florence.”

 

“Is there… anyway _out_ of what… what you’re in? Like, there’s witness protection and stuff, right? You’d have to testify probably, but—”

 

He placed a large palm over hers and squeezed, flashing her that half-smile of his. “Florence, I know my options. There’s a lot of things I can’t explain and I _really wish_ I can but it’s not for you to deal with.”

 

Chi-Chi shook her head, not wanting to believe that his options were _that_ limited. “Look, my dad knows a lot of people—”

 

“I chose this, Chi-Chi,” he said flatly. The way he said her name brook no argument. “This is my choice. I don’t _have_ to do what I’m doing. Don’t call your dad, don’t talk to _anyone_ about me… or your life is in danger. Do you understand?”

 

Chi-Chi jerked her hand away from him, upset at the underlying threat in his tone. She wasn’t sure if she meant in danger from _him_ or someone who _knew_ him. Maybe they were one and the same?

 

She didn’t understand him at all. Whatever he was messed up in was _clearly_ causing him pain, so it made absolutely no sense if he had a _choice_ in the matter.

 

He put his fork down and sighed, rubbing his brow. “I can go.”

 

She _should_ let him go. It was for the best.

 

“How about this… let’s have this evening, all right? Let’s have a nice meal, hang out, and… and that’s it,” she said finally. “I can’t keep…. I worry about you. But if you can’t help _yourself_ , _I_ can’t help _you_. It’s not fair to me.”

 

He ran his hand through his hair. “You’re right. I’ve… this has already gone far enough.”

 

“Don’t know how much _Drag Race_ you’ve been watching these days, but your girl Kiki got eliminated last week,” Chi-Chi said brightly, without missing a beat. “And my lady Trampire is still in the running. What d’ya have to say about _that?_ ”

 

He gaped at her silently for a few seconds, trying to parse her abrupt change of subject.

 

“I say the game’s rigged,” he said finally, his mouth twitching as he spooned some green curry onto his plate.

 

Chi-Chi forced a smile to her lips to tamp down the sinking feeling of dread in her stomach.

 

.

.

.

 

Chi-Chi hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep until she felt strong arms lift her from the couch. She stirred, slightly disoriented as she felt herself being lowered onto her bed. Warm, gentle hands brushed her hair back, then she felt her socks being tugged off.

 

“Mm, I’m awake, I’m awake,” she murmured, sitting up.

 

“No, you’re not, go back to sleep,” Kakarrot whispered, pressing her back onto the bed.

 

“Mm,” she hummed in response, reaching out to grasp his arm. “Are you staying over?”

 

He gave her a breathy laugh. “Ah, princess, not a good idea.”

 

“You know I hate that nickname.” She was starting to wake up a little more as she realized he really was going to leave. Their conversation from earlier in the evening about this being their _final_ time together came back to her, and she wanted to take her own words back. But she knew they were _smart_ words, _smart_ boundaries. And yet—

 

“Stay,” she whispered.

 

He stilled.

 

“What’s one more night?” she went on.

 

“Chi-Chi…” The way he said her name made her stomach do flip-flops.

 

“Kakarrot...” she mimicked, smiling at him teasingly. He hadn’t turned on any lights, so he was all shadows and angles. The only clear part of him were the whites of his eyes.

 

“I don’t think I could have a good night’s sleep here,” he said. The words sliced through her like a lance. It hurt to hear, that he didn’t feel comfortable around her… at least not anymore. Their time was through.

 

She sniffed. And to her horror, she realized her eyes were leaking with tears. She was sad to see him go, she was worried about his future and upset she couldn’t do anything about it. She was angry _he_ didn’t _want_ to do anything about it.

 

“Ah, dammit, Florence,” he murmured, clearly catching on to her crying, though she’d tried to swallow the evidence down. He plopped down on the bed beside her and rubbed her thigh. “I’m not worth this.”

 

“No, you aren’t,” she snapped. “I’m not sad. I’m _mad._ You… you’re throwing your life away.”

 

“It’s _my_ life,” he told her, and she noted he didn’t correct her last statement. “Don’t waste your tears. I’ve made my bed.”

 

“ _Why_ can’t you get help?” Chi-Chi asked desperately. “I… whatever it is. You’re not _happy_ about it.”

 

“Life’s not fair, Florence,” he said tightly. “We don’t all win at life. We don’t all have the world at our feet. That’s just the way it is. The sooner you get that, the better.”

 

“I… I have _powerful_ friends, you know,” Chi-Chi said.

 

While she was determined to live her life on her own terms, independent of her father, she definitely understood where she stood in society. She _was_ the daughter of the richest man on Fire Mountain. She _was_ best friends with Bulma Briefs, who the West City Times once called the “Mind of a Generation.”

 

And she wasn’t ignorant to the fact that said best friend was heir to Capsule Corporation, a large, multi-national organization with major ties to government.

 

She never _once_ used her connections for any personal gain. But maybe this was the right time?

 

However, instead of being buoyed by her statement, Kakarrot seemed incensed. He grasped her upper arms and shook her slightly.

 

“ _Stop_ it. You’re _not_ going to call in any favors for me, all right? Don’t be a _fucking idiot_. I’m _dangerous_. As far as anyone is concerned, I don’t exist. There is _no_ tidy answers to this, _princess._ You’re not going to ‘save’ me or whatever the hell you’re cooking up in that noggin of yours.”

 

“I don’t want—”

 

“Have you asked me what _I_ want? I don’t _need_ your help, okay?” Kakarrot bit in. “I know you’re a goddamn bleeding heart, but do you have any sense left? You barely have an idea of what I’m in. You have _no clue_ what I’ve _done._ You have _no clue_ what being associated with me could bring.”

 

“I still think—”

 

“Death. I bring _death,_ Chi-Chi.”

 

She winced, fear coursing through her, which she knew was his prerogative, but something felt _off_ still.

 

“But—”

 

“ _Promise me,_ ” Kakarrot said, shaking her lightly again. “Promise me you won’t go to anyone, talk to anyone. Or say anything. Please. Promise me.”

 

“I—”

 

“ _Say it,”_ he repeated harshly, his fingers biting into her arms. “Promise me.”

 

“K-kakarrot,” she sobbed, her face crumpling in despair. She felt like she was losing him, like he was _dying_ right before her eyes… and that he was forcing her to confront that reality. He probably _was_ on borrowed time. But she didn’t want to hear it.

 

“Dammit, Chi-Chi, _promise_ me...” he exclaimed, his voice cracking. “I can’t… I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you...”

 

She had no words to say, only an endless supply of tears to give.

  
Then his mouth was on hers, insistent and fierce. She returned his attention frantically, pulling at his lips with a single-minded desperation.

 

“I want you so much,” he managed in between breaths, his hands wandering everywhere. The words fell from his tongue like a waterfall breaking through a dam, like he'd been holding back and could no longer. “I’ve thought about you _all_ month… I missed you…”

 

“I missed you, too,” she confessed shakily. Her fingers tore at his shirt with more ferocity than she intended, the small buttons flying with a clatter onto her dresser and the floor.

 

“God, princess,” he groaned as she pulled her top over her head.

 

“Shut up and kiss me,” she demanded. She didn’t actually wait for him to respond since she took initiative and tackled him down onto the mattress, rolling on top of him. She could feel his hardness pressing insistently against her, causing a thrill to course through her body.

 

“This… maybe… we probably shouldn’t...” he panted beneath her, in between their frantic kisses.

 

“Your princess commands you to _shut the hell up,”_ Chi-Chi snapped. Kakarrot stilled, his eyes wide at her statement.

 

Tension started to seep out as Kakarrot rumbled beneath her in laughter.

 

She fought her own fit of giggles, nearly swaying in relief. She was tense the entire evening and while things were nowhere near _normal_ or _right,_ it was nice to laugh.

 

Her laughter came to an abrupt stop when Kakarrot expertly flipped her onto her back, her breath leaving her in a whoosh.

 

“What else does your royal highness command?” he murmured softly, as he nibbled the side of her neck. Goosebumps broke out all over her body at his attention, and she bucked unconsciously beneath him as his thumb swirled over her nipple. It was hard to think, she didn’t _want_ to think — she wanted to feel him, _all_ of him, and to never let him go.

 

She gasped when his hands dipped lower and touched the apex of her thighs.

 

“Tell me what you want, princess,” he said roughly.

 

She closed her eyes tightly, letting the sensations of his fingers playing against her wash over her. There was too much clothing between them. She wanted his fingers _on her_ , _in her—_

 

“I—” she began, but whatever she wanted to articulate became strangled, when he pushed aside the scrap of cloth below to touch her most intimate area.

 

“Hm, I think I know what you want,” he murmured.

 

She gave a full bodied shudder when his mouth closed in on a bare nipple… she’d been barely aware that her bra had been discarded. At some point, they’d divested of most of their clothes, and she was down to her knickers, and he, his briefs.

 

He was so broad, such a giant of a man, but despite their differences in stature, in this embrace as old as time, she felt larger than life. She felt like an amazon, a goddess, a — _ah_ right there!

 

She could feel him smile against her stomach at her exclamation, and down he went, tugging her panties lower. He kissed her right hip, then her left, until finally…

 

“ _Oh!_ ” Chi-Chi exclaimed. Her fingers clawed at mattress, as she tried to gain a semblance of control. Her legs quivered at his ministrations, his tongue swirling against her bud in a way that was driving her wild. She bucked beneath him as a familiar tension grew in her womb.

 

It felt like too much and not enough all at the same time. Without thinking, she grasped at Kakarrot’s shoulders.

 

“P-please,” she got out. “I… I need you inside me.”

 

He paused his wicked mouth, lifting his head quizzically. “Are you sure? You’re not finished yet.”

 

“For god’s sake, Kakarrot, just _fuck me already,_ ” Chi-Chi exclaimed, her insides were practically throbbing with want. He gave out a strangled laugh and crawled over her, while pulling his drawers down.

 

“You’re bossy,” he said, with breathless amusement.

 

“Are you done talking?” she gasped, raising her hips to meet him.

 

“Yes, ma’am,” he said and in one smooth thrust, filled her to the hilt. Chi-Chi nearly cried out in relief, her insides clenching him in a desperate welcome.

 

“I’m so close already,” she moaned, writhing underneath him. She felt completely wanton.

 

“Give me a second, baby… _slow down_!” Kakarrot managed, sounding choked, aroused and amused at the same time. He seemed a little exasperated but at the same time enjoying every minute.

 

“No,” she told him, sticking her tongue out playfully as she ground her hips upward, her leg hooked around his waist. His body rumbled with laughter and Chi-Chi found she enjoyed the sensation.

 

This felt… _joyful_.

 

Fun.

 

“ _Goddammit_ , woman, I’m _barely_ …” he was half laughing, half kissing her now, as his knees shook from the effort to keep it together.

 

She giggled until his efforts doubled, then her chuckles were completely replaced with shuddering gasps. He swallowed her breaths as he drew her into a deep kiss. She sighed contentedly, feeling like she would swoon if she wasn’t already on her back, loving how his lips raked across hers. He kneaded her flesh with sensual strokes, alternating between soft and firm touches.

 

She loved how he felt, how he tasted.

 

She… she loved everything about him.

 

He adjusted their angle and positioning as his tongue swirled in her mouth. Something in the way he moved, the way his hips changed and hit her _just so_ , suddenly pushed her off the precipice.

 

“Ah!” she gasped, her eyes shut tight as she rode the waves of her orgasm.

 

As she clenched around him, his movements sped up, and soon, he joined her ride through ecstasy.

 

He caught her lips again as his body shuddered against hers. He groaned, a long self-satisfied sound, as he collapsed. As his body spent itself, he nuzzled her jaw affectionately, murmuring unintelligibly against her skin.

 

She hadn’t realized she was crying again, so overwhelmed by everything that just happened. It wasn’t until she felt him gather her close on her side, rubbing her back soothingly, that she started to truly fall apart.

 

“Shh, shh, you’re all right, I got you, I got you,” he murmured, kissing her temple.

 

It seemed like crying was a theme for whenever she physically confronted her feelings for Kakarrot. She felt a little disjointed and confused, a conflict of emotions, not unlike the last time. She was so _happy_ being with him, her body in definite agreement, but she couldn’t be _quite_ that happy, not really.

 

Being with him was such a rollercoaster. Hell, in the span of _minutes_ , she’d laughed _and_ cried, then laughed, then cried again. She had no idea how it was possible to feel all these emotions at the same time, and yet there she was…

 

“I don’t want you to leave,” she sobbed into his chest.

 

“All right, okay, I’m still here,” he said, his hand still rubbing her back comfortingly. “I’m not leaving.”

 

“No?” she hiccuped.

 

“Well you kinda have me in an octopus grip right now,” he said teasingly, remarking on the way she was clinging against him. Try as she might, her tears seemed to have no end. She felt his chest expand beneath her cheek as he took a deep, sobering breath.

 

“I’ll stay the night,” he said.

 

It was all he could promise her, she knew, so she nodded silently.

 

“Let’s take a shower and head back to bed then?” he suggested gently. She nodded silently again, her sobs finally subsiding. She dimly realized that because he’d caught her unawares earlier that evening, she hadn’t gone through her regular nightly routine. She still smelled of _hospital_ , she thought with a slight wince.

 

Once she got to her feet, she flashed him a tremulous look.

 

“Sorry, I don’t know what got over me,” she said.

 

“I’m irresistible, duh,” he teased with a wink. He quickly leaned over to kiss her on the cheek, as if trying to reassure that it wasn’t that big of a deal that she’d basically fallen apart over him. His eyes were kind as they swept over her, and she tried not to feel so self conscious over her overtly emotional display.

 

Once they were in the shower, a stream of warm water sprinkling over them, he lathered her up. His hands ghosted fervently across her body like he was committing it to memory. As she looked up at his calm, piercing gaze, she felt her eyes sting with a new flood of tears.

 

Then they were kissing again. She wasn’t sure if she initiated or if he, but as they embraced under the gentle onslaught of the shower, she wished with all her might for the night to never end.

 

.

.

.

 

 

 


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plotty plot plot... Let's find a way to accelerate Goku's memory recall, shall we? ;-)

Bulma Briefs hadn’t slept on a sofa bed in over a decade; probably since college for her first degree?

 

Still, she was grateful. The options were pretty limited since she didn’t have her wallet _or_ phone — thanks to the incompetence of the WCPD who still had it under “evidence.” And she wasn’t about to go into her apartment, since, well… _he_ knew where it was.

 

Even though he was strapped down in the hospital, she didn’t want to take chances.

 

She sighed and looked at Lazuli, asleep across from her. Her dear friend had taken one look at the sobbing messes that she and Chi-Chi had been at ER reception and told them in no uncertain terms that she was taking them home with her.

 

Chi-Chi didn’t have much choice, either, since she didn’t have her car with her — she’d taken the ambulance to the hospital — _and_ she was deathly afraid of taking her and her son back to _her_ place since, well…

 

Chi-Chi didn’t know her son’s kidnapper was alive, that he was at the hospital, but her home, her safe space, had been violated.

 

And of course, _Chi-Chi_ didn’t have her own phone on her either, because, _bravo again,_ WCPD!

 

Bulma gave another blustery sigh, rubbing her tired face. Lazuli had given Chi-Chi and Gohan her master bed to sleep in, which was why they were both on the sofa bed in her nice, modern apartment.

 

“You’re creeping me out, stop staring,” Lazuli murmured flatly, her eyes still closed.

 

“You love it, you’re secretly in love with me,” Bulma returned immediately, though a bit tiredly.

 

Lazuli’s sharp eyes fluttered open. “Go back to fucking sleep. Haven’t you been up for like 24 hours already?”

 

“Not every day I get kidnapped, give me a moment to deal,” Bulma drawled, trying to be flippant.

 

At that, Lazuli shifted and propped her cheek on her palm. “You want to talk about it?”

 

Bulma opened her mouth to make another dismissive remark, but saw Lazuli was staring at her seriously, with none of her usual dry aloofness.

 

Bulma worked her jaw.

 

“He’s alive,” she said finally.

 

Lazuli’s only reaction was a slow blink. “Gohan’s daddy? Yeah?”

 

“No — I mean, yes, he is. I’m not talking about him.”

 

Lazuli gave her another neutral blink. “Okay.”

 

“I have no clue what’s going on,” Bulma said quietly. It was a _very_ foreign state for Bulma — she always looked at every angle. And whenever she was stumped, she had steps on how to work through a problem. But this — Bulma was lost.

 

It was hard for her to deal feeling _clueless_.

 

“That makes two of us,” Lazuli remarked, though her tone was gentle.

 

“God, you’d think I’d be prepared, right? I’m one of the richest women in the world.”

 

“What?” Lazuli lifted a delicate brow and scoffed. “Be _prepared_ to get kidnapped? That’s fucked up. This isn’t on you, girl. Shit happens to the best of us.”

 

Bulma gave a watery laugh, happy to receive her friend’s snappy words. She took another shaky breath. “I don’t know… it’s just surreal.”

 

“It’s a fucking _nightmare_ and you have every right to be scared and upset,” Lazuli said firmly. “No matter what you think, you’re not Wonder Woman. Your panties aren’t made of adamantium.”

 

“You’re mixing comic books now and the metaphors don’t even make sense,” Bulma said with a small, delighted chuckle.

 

“You’re a pain in the ass, Briefs. It’s okay to be upset about this,” Lazuli said, kicking her lightly in the shin. “Stop trying to be better than us and get back to earth.”

 

“Fuck you, pleb,” Bulma countered with a small laugh.

 

“Go to sleep,” Lazuli repeated with an eye roll, as she plopped back down on her pillow.

 

Comforted by the small exchange with her friend, the little slice of normalcy after the most confusing 48 hrs of her life, Bulma Briefs allowed exhaustion to take over.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

 

“Fascinating… truly fascinating...”

 

Goku stirred as unfamiliar voices floated around him. Their tones were hushed, clearly because they thought he was still asleep.

 

“Yes, do you see these shady areas here?” another unfamiliar voice, a higher pitched, almost scratchy tone broke in. Old. Weathered.

 

“Mm hm,” the first voice responded. Also scratchy, but deeper. A smoker’s voice…

 

“It’s a sign of damage usually seen in Alzheimer’s patients,” the second voice responded. “And it’s an old injury. See where it is? It’s separate from the area of recent trauma, which fortunately only shows signs of surface damage.”

 

“I had no doubt he was honest about his memory loss, but I’m glad that it’s corroborated all the same.”

 

Goku stiffened slightly. _Kami’s_ voice.

 

“That means we trust you, son,” the smoker said, patting his leg. “We know you’re awake.”

 

At that, Goku slowly opened his eyes, taking a look at his surroundings. He knew he’d been out of it for a while, but he’d been conscious enough to understand he’d been moved from his original hospital room. It looked like he was still in a medical facility, however…

  
He regarded the two older gentlemen by his bedside, who looked rather comical to Goku. The shorter one had a round, rosy face with a dark, wispy — barely there — mustache and the whitest mop of hair that stuck out the sides. His eyes also seemed to be in a perpetual smile. Goku noticed the clipboard in his hand with what looked to be X-rays and graphics.

 

Meanwhile, the other, thinner gentleman had a startling shock of short purple hair. He’d _never_ seen someone of that age with such an outrageous color. Though, perhaps more startling was that he had an unlit cigarette bobbing in his mouth, just underneath a similarly colored mustache. Weren’t such things not allowed in a hospital?

 

He jerked up in alarm and hissed as a sharp pain on his side pierced him.

 

The white-haired man jumped and pressed a button by a machine nearby, raising the top half off the bed. “Don’t make sudden movements, you’ve fractured a couple ribs!”

 

Goku looked down briefly to observe his bare torso bandaged up, touching his middle briefly. The top of his left pectoral also hurt a lot. He turned his attention to Kami once he was propped up, utterly lost and uncomfortable.

 

“Where am I?” His _own_ voice was a mimic of theirs, scratchy and dry.

 

Kami somehow materialized a small paper cup with water and handed it to him immediately. Goku gratefully gulped the liquid down.

 

“Don’t worry, young man,” Kami said with a deep sigh. “You’re safe here. We moved you from Wukong a day ago and you’ve been recovering here ever since.”

 

“Oh, how rude of me!” The purple-haired man laughed, plucking the cigarette from his mouth and placing it over his ear, before he wiped his right hand on his pristine white coat to extend it. Goku lifted his free hand in bemusement to allow the man to give his a firm handshake.

 

It felt good-natured, relaxing Goku slightly.

 

“I’m Dr. Boxa Briefs, and this is my colleague, Dr. Neko Korin. You may be familiar with my company, Capsule Corporation?” He was making animated gesticulations.

 

Goku stared at him blankly. Was that where they were? Capsule Corporation, whatever that was? All three older men exchanged looks, while Dr. Briefs chuckled lightly.

 

“Well, this is a novelty! Utterly fascinating,” Dr. Briefs remarked, rocking back on his heels. Dr. Korin laughed boisterously in response. Goku was so confused. What was so funny?

 

“He has lived the past five years on Papaya Island, relatively isolated,” Kami supplied, angling Goku a comforting nod. Goku had so many questions, but something _stuck_ about the purple-haired doctor…

 

“Bulma Briefs,” Goku murmured aloud, staring at the purple-haired man who adjusted his glasses at his statement.

 

“Mm, yes, my daughter,” Dr. Briefs said, inclining his head. Goku blinked rapidly. This odd man was the kidnapped woman’s father?

 

Dr. Briefs turned to Dr. Korin. “He remembered _that_. He recognized my name in relation to my child.”

 

“Short-term memory is relatively unaffected, good to know,” Dr. Korin said, and scribbled something on the papers attached to the clipboard. Abruptly, Dr. Briefs leaned over, lowering his glasses to peer at Goku’s face. Goku blinked rapidly in shock.

 

“Pupils dilating like normal. We’ll have to do a follow-up examination, but seems fine,” Dr. Briefs announced, snapping his fingers in front of Goku’s face. Dr. Korin scribbled beside him. “Follow my finger, son. Over here.”

 

Goku was too shocked to do anything but comply, his eyes following Dr. Briefs pointer finger as it went left to right, up then down.

 

“Okay, co-ordination seems regular,” Dr. Briefs said, with a nod before thankfully rearing back and giving Goku more breathing room.

 

“Headache? Nausea?” Dr. Korin asked before Goku could get a word in edgewise.

 

“I… my head hurts a little,” Goku managed.

 

“Nausea?” Dr. Korin repeated, his pen hovered in the air.

 

“N-no,” Goku responded.

 

“He’s indicated that he recalls nothing beyond the past five years,” Kami added. Dr. Korin scribbled something furiously into the papers while Dr. Briefs nodded vigorously.

 

“We clearly have a complicated combination here,” Dr. Korin remarked, clicking his pen in clear excitement.

 

“What’s is going on?” Goku tried to keep the impatience out of his voice. He didn’t want to be rude to his elders, but it was frustrating to be poked and prodded and spoken _at._

 

“Your amnesia, m’boy,” Dr. Briefs said. “It’s an interesting combination of both physical _and_ psychological factors. According to Sgt. Piccolo, you have retained your weapons training from _before_ your disappearance, correct? And even some of your training as an undercover officer, considering you understood how to obscure your identity prior to your move back to West City?”

 

Goku glanced at Kami again for some sort of reassurance. This doctor seemed to know _so much_ about him and his situation and he’d only recently met! The older police officer nodded at Goku, patting his knee as extra nonverbal support.

 

Goku nodded hesitantly.

 

Dr. Briefs and Dr. Korin exchanged excited noises.

 

“And yet, you had no idea who Kakarrot Korzen was — that _you_ were that man — until Sgt. Piccolo explicitly explained.”

 

“No,” Goku said, shifting restlessly on the bed.

 

“The human mind is so interesting! How one can retain motor skills and other actions, while completely forgetting a face or time or place,” Dr. Korin exclaimed. Kakarrot started to feel like he was being looked at under a major microscope and was about to protest or feign tiredness when Dr. Briefs startled him with his next question.

 

“So when you met Piccolo and Kami recently,” Dr. Briefs went on, nodding to the captain. “You did not recognize them at all?”

 

“No,” Goku said with a small sigh.

 

“Not even a _hint,_ or a _sense?_ Even a feeling?” Dr. Briefs prodded. Goku shook his head, looking at Kami apologetically.

 

“Not a clue.”

 

“And when you met Chi-Chi, you did not recognize her?”

 

Goku’s thoughts raced — Bulma Briefs was Chi-Chi’s best friend, the whole reason she was kidnapped in the first place. So of course Dr. Briefs would know Chi-Chi. There was something in the way the doctor was eyeing him now that indicated it was _more_ than just professional curiosity at this point.

  
Dr. Briefs took Goku’s silence as confusion, so he cleared his throat and repeated more clearly:

 

“Chi-Chi _Mau_. She’s the short, dark-haired woman whose son was kidnapped. Did you recognize Chi-Chi Mau when you met the other day?”

 

Goku hesitated, feeling more awkward if it were possible. It was true… he hadn’t recognized the woman at _first_. Too many things had been going on. He’d _only just_ been confronted with his real identity. He _still_ didn’t know much about her and their past together. But how could he explain that he inherently felt she was… different?

 

There was no logic to it.

 

And he wasn’t about to explain that he’d been having _very inappropriate_ dreams about her — for _years!_ — and he’d only just realized that it _was_ her! That wasn’t something he could tell a room full of strangers! He didn’t need to have Grampy’s stern voice at the back of his mind to _know_ that was a line he shouldn’t cross.

 

Dr. Briefs leaned back as silence stretched, stroking his mustache thoughtfully.

 

“Interesting. That wasn’t a difficult question, young man,” Dr. Briefs said slowly.

 

Dr. Korin was now staring at him even more curiously.

 

“I… _feel_ like I should know her,” Goku said finally, compelled to answer to fill the quiet.

 

“Interesting,” Dr. Briefs repeated enigmatically. His tone was neutral, but something in his eyes… Goku felt like he was being _judged_.

 

“There’s no right or wrong answer here, Mr. Korzen,” Dr. Korin said gently. “Don’t feel the need to exaggerate. If you don’t recall Ms. Mau, that’s perfectly all right.”

 

Something about Dr. Korin’s words made Goku feel guilty and distressed. It wasn’t like he’d _chosen_ to forget people! Or anything at all! But he didn’t want to talk about Chi-Chi any longer. Thinking about her made him feel raw, like an exposed nerve.

 

Goku swallowed another gulp of water from the paper cup in his hand.

 

“I think he’s a candidate,” Dr. Korin said suddenly, with a definitive nod.

 

“I concur,” Dr. Briefs said, eyeing him carefully.

 

“A candidate for what?!” Goku exclaimed, his patience spent. He flushed, rattled at his own emotional outburst and the situation he was in. He felt like he was being _interrogated_ for things out of his control, and he was in more than a little bit of _pain —_ two fractured ribs, Dr. Korin said _—_ did they not see that? Absentmindedly, he rubbed the side with the fractures.

 

“We’re being so unprofessional, I apologize, Mr. Korzen,” Dr. Korin said with an apologetic glance down Goku’s torso, scrunching his whiskery nose. “We haven’t been attending physicians in years. We’re _scientists_ and it’s not every day to have such an intriguing case of injury-induced post-traumatic amnesia _alongside_ psychogenic symptoms.”

 

“Don’t forget what Sgt. Piccolo told us about—” Dr. Briefs broke in.

 

“—ah, yes, the dissociative fugue state during periods of extreme danger and stress,” Dr. Korin finished, scribbling in the papers.

 

Goku shook his head, his lips parting in utter confusion. Dr. Korin leaned forward, like he was sharing a giant secret among friends.

 

“You’ve got the whole smorgasbord!” Dr. Korin tapped Goku’s head lightly with the tip of his pen.

 

“Regardless, brain trauma _is_ a bit of a mishmash, hard to diagnose really,” Dr. Briefs said, humming thoughtfully.

 

Goku’s mind whirled as both doctors threw terms at him he didn’t quite understand. And did one of them say neither were _truly_ physicians?

 

“Oh, son, you’re looking a bit peaky. We are so rude,” Dr. Briefs acknowledged, now looking a bit abashed. “And we didn’t even answer your question. You’re a candidate for our experimental therapy — normally we focus the study on Alzheimer’s patients, but there’s no reason why amnesia can’t also be treated similarly.”

 

“Similar synapses, neurons, pathways,” Dr. Korin said cheerily.

 

Goku was utterly lost.

 

“What the doctors mean is they may have a way to restore part, maybe _all_ , of your memory,” Kami explained.

 

Goku’s eyes widened at the implication. All these _years_ of speculation, wondering who he was and where his place was in the world… the idea would have made him near- _ecstatic_ a year ago — a _week_ ago! — but everything he’d learned about himself and his situation was so awful, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know…

 

“We’ve developed a remarkable drug we call _SenzuB_ — it helps with cell repair, but is particularly useful in healing neural pathways. But, we haven’t quite gotten the go-ahead for a large-scale clinical trial,” Dr. Korin supplied.

 

Goku shook his head uncomprehendingly. Trial?

 

“We need a guinea pig, son,” Dr. Briefs said bluntly. “A human one. And you’re the lucky candidate! Congrats!”

 

The purple-haired man threw his hands in the air, and Dr. Korin followed suit with similar enthusiasm.

 

However, Goku couldn’t find himself mustering the same amount of happiness — or any happiness. Instead, he was filled with utter dread. Every thing he’d uncovered had been awful — maybe there was a reason his mind refused for him to recall the past.

 

Clearly, the men didn’t expect Goku’s fallen face and the silence that greeted them. Dr. Korin and Dr. Briefs exchanged glances, before Dr. Briefs slowly lowered his hands and scratched his head.

 

“You’ve gone through _extreme_ trauma these past few days, both physically and mentally—and here we are peppering you with questions! Awful! How about we give you a few moments to absorb and chat with Captain Kami here?”

 

Goku hadn’t realized how tense he’d been until he relaxed against the pillows at Dr. Brief’s statement. Kami nodded at the doctors who began shuffling out. But just before he went out the door, the purple-haired doctor lifted the cigarette from his ear and waved it in the air.

 

“Oh! And you must be hungry. I think Panchy’ll have lunch done shortly. You’ll like it — she’s making her famous rice porridge. It doesn’t sound like much but it has abalone and chicken and fried garlic. It’s perfect for a patient,” Dr. Briefs told him, his eyes crinkling.

 

Goku was getting whiplash from the change of subject and the friendly manner Dr. Briefs spoke to him. And who was _Panchy?_

 

But the two doctors had already left before Goku could ask.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m a little tired,” Goku found himself saying. “I’m thankful, really I am.”

 

Kami’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully on his face. “Look, son… these past few days have been rather trying for you. Take some time to reflect on this. But I must confess that I do have a selfish reason to push for this therapy — you were very much integral to the investigation against Frieza five years ago. We have your notes but not your interpretations. We have pieces, but don’t begin to understand the puzzle we’re building. Anything you remember could _help us.”_

 

Goku heard Kami’s words but he was struggling not to push everything away. It was so much to parse, to understand, to deal with. But Grampy taught him that if he could help someone in need, he had to _try_.

 

“Kakarrot, do you understand how wide-ranging taking down Frieza means? You could potentially save _hundreds_ of lives. This man, his organization, has brought so much pain to so many families. _Your_ family.”

 

Goku’s heart raced.

 

“Captain Kami,” Goku managed, his throat closing up with a sudden rush of emotion. “Is it true?”

 

“I don’t follow. Is what true, young man?”

 

“The Prince, he… he said something...”

 

“ _I want to stand here and watch you suffer, as much as I have suffered. You are going to watch them perish right before your eyes. Your woman first. Then your son.”_

 

“—Is Gohan my son?” Goku asked in a rush. Kami’s brows raised, clearly not expecting that question.

 

“That… is something _Ms. Mau_ is more qualified to answer,” Kami said gently. “Why do you ask?”

 

“You… mentioned my family…” Goku said stiltedly, feeling his face warm.

 

Kami inclined his head in understanding. “Ah. I meant what happened to your brother and your father.”

 

Goku’s lips parted in shock.

 

He had a _brother…_ and his _father_ figured into all this? He was so overwhelmed! Kami seemed to sense this as he leaned over and patted Goku on the shoulder.

 

“I will leave you to rest a bit. You need time to absorb what I’ve told you. We’ll have lunch soon and regroup. But don’t worry, you are safe for now.”

 

As he watched Kami leave the room, he couldn’t help but focus on how Kami carefully added a time limit to his safety.

 

.

.

.

 


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More plotttttttt

“— _this just in._

 

_Notorious hitman and leader of the Saiyan crime outfit, best known to law enforcement and underground circles as ‘The Prince,’ was found dead earlier this week at the West City docks. Not much is known about the underworld assassin — least of all his full identity — but he has been personally linked to no less than 30 deaths in the span of the past decade. Conservative estimates have that number doubled when linked to all the alleged crimes by the men who served under him. Sources speculate that the hits were allegedly carried out in the name of Frieza Kold, CEO of Frieza Industries, a subsidiary of the multi-national Kold Inc. empire._

 

_When reached for comment, Kold family lawyer Zarbon Rèptil states these claims have no foundation in reality._

 

_Mr. Rèptil’s official statement goes on to say:_

 

‘ _There is no evidence whatsoever that the Kold family has ever been or are currently engaged in illegal activity. Frieza Kold is a pillar of the community. As prominent real estate entrepreneurs, a safe neighborhood is both a personal and professional priority to the Kolds. They are disappointed in sensationalist media’s insistence on perpetuating fake news. While the Kolds have no link to this so-called ‘prince,’ their heart goes out victims of senseless violence. As a goodwill gesture, the Kold family pledges to donate $100,000 to the Chikyuu Center for Victims of Crime.'_

 

_ZTV has reached out to the WCPD, but they have no further comment at this time.”_

 

_._

_._

_._

 

“Do you see the balls on that old man? Naming _names_. A declaration of _war._ I don’t know whether to laugh or applaud him.”

 

“We’ve taken care of every loose end — Namek’s got _nothing_. This is just another one of his smoke and mirrors. Trying to draw you out to do something stupid.”

 

“Hm.

 

“… You think your pet is actually dead?”

 

“Hm.”

 

“What should we do?”

 

“… Let’s play Namek’s game for now, see where it takes us.”

 

“Yes, Lord Frieza.”

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

Chi-Chi blamed herself.

 

She failed as a mother.

 

Sure, Gohan was bright and well-behaved. He was generally happy. Healthy. But somehow along the way, she’d failed to impress on him how their family was _already_ complete. She failed to explain that there were _different types_ of families, and that they were _all_ valid — and their little world, while lacking a biological father in the picture, included a doting grandfather and an extended family like Bulma’s that thought of him and treated him like blood.

 

They were enough. _More_ than enough.

  
She failed.

 

Her reticence in talking about Gohan’s father and inability to speak to her son properly about the reality of their situation caused her imaginative, normally _obedient_ child to throw away all sense. It was her fault that a boy who _definitely knew_ what “stranger danger” meant still _willingly_ followed the most dangerous man with the simple promise to take him to his father.

 

Gohan’s father, who he’d been wishing secretly to meet _every_ night since he’d received that dragon toy.

 

… Christmas was almost a year ago!

 

A year of her oblivious to her son’s yearnings!

 

She nearly collapsed when Gohan had told her that he kept it a secret because whenever he asked about his dad, she would get really sad.

 

Her sweet boy didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

 

It hurt to think that _her own fears and insecurities_ led to all of this.

 

Plus, it was all so confusing trying to interpret recent events from Gohan’s point of view.

 

He thought _magic_ was involved and that monster _played along…!_

 

Gohan had burst into tears — asked if he ruined everything and if his dad was dead and if it was all _his_ fault.

 

 _That_ took all of Chi-Chi’s willpower not to breakdown then and there. She immediately told him in no uncertain terms that he was _not_ at fault for anything that happened, changing the subject to figure out what else his kidnapper did to him.

 

That was where things turned surreal. Gohan seemed to be _very_ bewildered about the turn of events, clearly _not_ understanding that he’d _actually been kidnapped_. That his kidnapper and father were _enemies_.

 

The man had told him a story about Kakarrot that made no sense, something about an eating contest — granted, interpreting a four-year-old’s ramblings were always a challenge — and then apparently, he asked him a few questions about _Bulma._

 

Which, frankly, made Chi-Chi’s skin crawl and raised alarm bells.

 

Still, the familiar way the maniac spoke about both Bulma and Kakarrot, along with a few pictures, convinced Gohan that his kidnapper was _a family friend_. Plus, the man knew where they lived and they even went back to get him Shenron, so how could he be a bad guy?

 

Gohan thought everything had been some grand adventure and game, like some twisted hide-and-seek, where he got a prize in the end for being a good boy — the prize being an intro to Kakarrot.

 

Which was why he sat silently in that damn shipping crate until it started moving and scaring him.

 

It was so many levels of fucked up, Chi-Chi didn’t even know where to start.

 

All she knew was that this was _her_ fault.

 

If she hadn’t been involved with Kakarrot, her friend wouldn’t have been kidnapped. If she hadn’t been a bad mother, Gohan wouldn’t have been kidnapped.

 

Despite all this, Chi-Chi marveled at her child’s capacity to bounce back. Even though _everything_ was in complete chaos, he was absentmindedly swinging his legs around Lazuli’s kitchen stool like he hadn’t a care in the world. He was even humming to himself, a tune from his favorite TV show, as he spooned the scrambled eggs she made earlier into his mouth.

 

“Chi, this is _fucking amazing_ ,” Lazuli exclaimed off to the side, as Chi-Chi made enough scramble for everyone’s breakfast, using a French slow-cooking technique with butter.

 

Gohan ducked his head and chuckled behind his hand, his large eyes darting between his mother and her blonde friend.

 

“Language,” Chi-Chi drawled half-heartedly, cupping Gohan’s ears lightly. Her boy tried to dodge her hands, giggling. Her heart clenched at his playfulness, and for the millionth time, all she could see was Kakarrot. Her son _laughed_ like him. She ruffled her son’s hair affectionately, flashing him a sad smile.

 

God, Gohan was so much more like him than she’d realized.

 

“So what’s the plan?” Lazuli asked as they finished their morning meal and cleaned up after themselves. Chi-Chi ushered Gohan to the living room and allowed him to flip through TV channels while the women chatted in the kitchen.

 

“I’d like a ride to the hospital—” Chi-Chi began.

 

“We’re going to the precinct—” Bulma said.

 

Lazuli’s her eyes bounced between them, before crossing her arms, waiting for a response.

 

Bulma broke their stand-off first.

 

“No, we’re going to the cops,” Bulma said, slicing through the air with her palm. “They have all our shit. Your guy’s going to be in the hospital for a _while…_ we need to get our things first.”

 

Chi-Chi pressed her lips together. She knew Bulma wasn’t a big fan of Kakarrot and that her suggestion was colored by that opinion. She was about to argue when an unfamiliar ringing broke through the air. Her friends stared at her expectantly, and she belatedly realized that it was the burner phone Kami had given her, tucked in her purse.

 

Her stomach turned. Every time that stupid phone rang, it had been bad news, so when she answered the phone, she was surprised to hear Krillin’s voice.

 

“Hey, Chi-Chi, it’s me. Krillin? Goku’s friend from the restaurant?”

 

It was still weird to hear Kakarrot being referred to that name.

 

“Yes, I remember. Hi, Krillin. How did you get this number?”

 

“Ah, uh, Sgt. Piccolo gave it to me this morning. I’m… supposed to ask you if you have Bulma Briefs with you? And… uh, to pick you up, I guess? I need to know where you are right now.”

 

“Pick me up?” Chi-Chi echoed.

 

“Fuck no,” Bulma said, and before Chi-Chi understood what she was doing, the heiress wrenched the phone from her fingers and began barking into the other end. “I’m going to call _my lawyer!_ I’m not going to be dicked around by the WCPD and taken who knows where. Good-bye.”

 

Chi-Chi gaped at Bulma when she hung up a satisfied button press.

 

“Bulma, he works with Sgt. Piccolo! _”_ Chi-Chi exclaimed.

 

“And we all know how competent that asshole is!” Bulma’s voice had risen to a hysterical pitch.

 

“Sgt. Piccolo saved my son’s life,” Chi-Chi said, her tone quiet but firm.

 

Bulma flushed slightly and had the grace to look mildly chastised. She took a small breath and her voice was more calm when she next spoke.

 

“Fine. He did his _job_. But let’s not forget how all of this—” Bulma paused to wave her hand around her, “—is because of the incompetence of the WCPD. From your _sketchy_ undercover _ex_ -lover—”

 

Chi-Chi winced. Her reaction to the news that Kakarrot was a _cop_ all along actually only made Bulma _more_ angry at the WCPD. Bulma was just getting started, her arms doing that dramatic thing it did when she was trying to command an audience.

 

“— to this _entire_ kidnapping fiasco… it’s all because the WCPD don’t know what they’re doing. So _excuse me_ for not wanting to ride off into the sunset with another ‘friend’ of the police force.”

 

Chi-Chi felt her cheeks warm in annoyance and defense, when Lazuli stepped in decidedly between them, crossing and tapping her palms in a T-formation.

 

“Whoa, whoa, time out, breathe, we’re all on the same side here,” Lazuli said evenly. “Can the objective third party share her perspective?”

 

Chi-Chi and Bulma exchanged glances and both gave their blonde friend a nod.

 

“All right. First of all, Bulma is right, the WCPD is full of fuck ups,” Lazuli began, causing Bulma to grin and point at Lazuli triumphantly.

 

Chi-Chi sighed and was about to say something when Lazuli lifted her palm to stem her words.

 

“But, in their defense, they were up against some major crazy. And _technically_ , not only was Gohan _saved_ by said WCPD—”

 

Lazuli whirled to point at Bulma.

 

“— but Chi-Chi’s baby daddy pounded _your_ kidnapper to the dirt. Which means, the WCPD managed to avenge _you,_ _too_. The guy’s dead, right? Can’t get more avenged than that.”

 

Strangely, Bulma’s eyes shifted to Chi-Chi quickly at Lazuli’s final words, before the heiress screwed her eyes shut in clear frustration. She could tell Lazuli’s calm words were landing.

 

“Fuck, _fine_ ,” Bulma said, exasperation tinging her tone, her eyes flashing open. “Let’s get this shit out of the way so we can _move on_.”

 

The phone began to ring again, startling Bulma who still had it in her palm. She threw it to Chi-Chi, who barely managed to catch it and glared at her.

 

“Set it up. I need a moment to cool off.”

 

At that, she whirled around and stomped away to Lazuli’s bathroom and slammed the door.

 

Chi-Chi sighed deeply. She couldn’t blame Bulma for being angry — she couldn’t imagine what it was like being held against her will for all those hours. Chi-Chi was terrified that her beautiful friend could have been violated in the worst way and pretending it hadn’t happened. Bulma was the type to play strong when she was falling apart inside. But when Chi-Chi gently prodded her, Bulma had practically _screamed_ that she didn’t need a rape kit.

 

Chi-Chi shook her head. She was in a living nightmare.

 

They all were.

 

She answered the next ring tiredly: “Hi, Krillin? Yeah. Sorry about that. You can pick us up at...”

 

.

.

.

 

Bulma was convinced she was drugged.

 

She _must_ be under the influence, she was in the middle of a bad trip, an alternate universe, because the people she loved and trusted were saying the most outrageous things.

 

Like how they were helping the WCPD, have been for _years_ , and that they were now harboring Chi-Chi’s ludicrous ex-lover.

 

Worse, Bulma did _not_ _miss_ her father obliquely referencing her kidnapper. It was a throwaway line, a quick look toward her, and Bulma put two-and-two together.

 

Without so many words, Bulma knew that her captor _was somewhere in the premises._ The man who’d kidnapped, drugged, and terrorized her was now fiddling his thumbs somewhere in her _childhood home_. It didn’t matter that her “childhood home” was a giant sprawling compound — every nook and cranny of Capsule Corporation was _hers_.

  
And now it was _violated_.

 

And her own father welcomed this!

 

Chi-Chi seemed oblivious about the implications, too wrapped talking to Dr. Korin and Captain Kami to get an update on Kakarrot’s health. She was more concerned on when to see her ex than about how _massively fucked up_ this situation was!

 

Krillin, their driver — how the hell was he even _involved_ considering he was a _restaurant owner?! —_ was beside Chi-Chi getting the same low-down. Meanwhile, Lazuli was chatting calmly with her mother, Panchy, who was going on and on about how lunch was almost ready.

 

She must have taken crazy pills between scrambled eggs and kicking the tub in Lazuli’s bathroom.

 

Bulma felt like she was going mad at how _normal_ everyone was treating this!

 

This was _not_ normal! It was _not_ normal to be taken through weird back streets to make sure no one followed them — only to be taken to the place where _she learned to go potty_. Her family shouldn’t be secretly harboring undercover police _or_ master criminals! And even if they were, why the hell would they be in the _same_ building?!

 

They nearly killed each other!

 

“Dad,” she said stiffly, grabbing her father’s lab coat rather aggressively. “Can we _talk somewhere private?_ ”

 

Her father beamed at her, showing not one iota of concern about the situation.

 

“Ah, of course, my dear,” Dr. Briefs said, practically chirping. Dear _god_ , he was actually excited about all this insanity!

 

No one seemed to notice the two of them go off to a conference room nearby. Once the door was firmly closed, Bulma rounded on her dad and threw her hands in the air.

 

“ _Dad,_ are you fucking insane?!”

 

Dr. Briefs blinked at his only child and adjusted the glasses on his nose. “Dear, is that any way to talk to your father?”

 

Bulma wondered how in the world this was her life now. How could he not _see…_?

 

“Dad, he _hurt_ me,” Bulma said, trying to impress the seriousness of it all.

 

She cursed herself for her voice coming out much less indignant, more pained. She hated how being around him made her feel like a little girl, stripped of her multiple degrees. This was more than a scraped knee, more than a bully pulling her hair.

 

But here she was, Bulma Briefs, pleading with her father to understand her.

 

At her tone, her father’s smile dropped. He took off his Buddy Holly glasses and plopped it in his lab coat’s breast pocket, before he grasped her hand with both of his palms and nodded at her seriously.

 

“I know, my love, I know,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

 

“So _why…?_ I mean I _know_ the WCPD is probably going to try to squeeze him for info, I get why they kept him alive, but why do _you_ have to be involved?” Bulma exclaimed.

 

“Bulma, do you ever wonder why Capsule Corporation is so successful? How it’s grown to be such a lucrative company, a powerful force?”

 

Where was Dad going with this?

 

“Because you’re a genius,” she said.

 

Bulma was surprised when her father shook his head slowly.

 

“My IQ and fancy degrees and tech toys… yes, of course they’re a factor. But there are a lot of brilliant people in the world.”

 

Bulma blinked at her father’s uncharacteristic show of humility. He was vastly underselling his intelligence: he wasn’t just _any_ brilliant man. One could argue he was the smartest man in the _world_.

 

“My dear, we’re here… _you’re_ here… all of this…”

 

He made a sweeping motion in the air.

 

“This all exists because I’ve made a _lot_ of sacrifices. I’ve made a lot of… difficult choices, decisions that I can’t say I’m proud of… but had to be done. Many don’t have the strength. I try.”

 

Bulma’s heart was thudding so loudly against her ears. What was her father saying? This was a side she never saw of him, this contemplative side. Even when talking about serious subjects growing up, her father always carried a light-hearted air.

 

That was gone.

 

“We’re at war, love,” Dr. Briefs said bluntly. “We’ve been waging a war with the Kolds for over a decade.”

 

Bulma hated those slimy assholes as much as her dad. Beyond the fact that they were _clearly_ a giant crime organization, they ran legitimate businesses that dared to rival Capsule Corp! The fucking nerve!

 

“I mean, I get that, Dad, I do, but—”

 

“Do you, my child? Or will you have me push away the _one major lead_ this investigation has had in _years_ because of a misguided personal vendetta where all parties were left alive?”

 

Bulma locked her jaw. “Dad, I—”

 

Dr. Briefs nodded at Bulma’s frustrated expression. “I’m angry, too, my dear. Believe me. That young man, regardless of his motivations, should _not_ have taken you against your will. I _love_ Chi-Chi like my own daughter. I’ve already given up on _you_ providing us grandchildren, so Gohan means very much to your mother and I.”

 

Bulma barely suppressed a wince at her father’s last dry words.

 

“So believe me, please, when I say I’m not… _happy_ with these events. Yes, I’m excited about… well, Chi-Chi’s young man is a scientific marvel for more reasons than one. And I _am_ excited that there’s a possibility, albeit a small one, that we could make progress against Frieza Kold.”

 

Her father squeezed her hand and tilted his head to catch her eyes, to force her to look at him directly. “Again, we’re at war, love. And this ordeal… I hope you have the strength to forgive me. Because if we can convince _him_ to help us, we can save _hundreds_ of lives.”

 

Bulma felt her eyes sting with unshed tears. “Daddy—”

 

“There’s no other choice. If we release him to the WCPD, one of Frieza’s inside men will go after him. We can’t even release him to Wukong — Frieza has people there, too. That is why Kakarrot Korzen is here as well. We’re the _safest_ place. If we don’t take them, we lose our opportunity against the Kolds permanently.”

 

“I think you’re overestimating your ability to get that guy to work with us, Dad. He’s a _fucking maniac_. You don’t… he’s a _murderer,_ ” Bulma said, desperately.

 

“So am I,” he countered quietly, causing her to rear back and take her hand.

 

“What?”

 

“My dear, you’re smarter than this. It’s why you quit the company. We don’t develop _toys._ While I’ve never fired a gun at another human being or slayed someone in combat — I know where our machines are being used. I’m complicit,” he said evenly. Bulma wanted to refute him, but found the words stuck in her throat.

 

This was _exactly_ the reason why she quit the company all those years ago.

 

“But what I think you never understood back then, and I hope you do now,” Dr. Briefs said, while he rubbed his mustache absentmindedly, “Is that better _me_. Better _us_ than someone else. At least this way, _we_ know… where things go. We can control supply. We can influence _people_ who _want_ that supply. Do you understand, Bulma, my love?”

 

Bulma heaved a big sigh. “Oh, Daddy… you…”

 

She shook her head helplessly, finding it hard to argue. She was a _scientist_ and all her arguments were _emotional_ in nature. She knew he was right.

 

He was right.

 

“He’s _smart,_ Dad,” Bulma blurted out.

 

Dr. Briefs blinked. “Oh?”

 

She gestured wildly in the air. “ _Legitimately_ smart. And… _I_ managed to sneak out of here as a _teenager_ , you know.”

 

Dr. Briefs bit his lip, clearly trying to hide a smile. “You never once considered that we _let you_ as a security exercise?”

 

Bulma rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I got _that_ , but I mean… this guy. He’s _dangerous._ What if he tries to shank Mom in the middle of the night?”

 

Her father barked out a laugh despite her dark comments. “Oh, my dear, I’m sure you wouldn’t let that happen.”

 

That was when Bulma realized what this entire conversation was all leading to. She stared at him silently, crossing her arms stubbornly. His smile grew, larger and larger until it almost split his face.

 

“I’m not working here again, Daddy,” Bulma said in a deadly calm voice. Her father shrugged and continued to smile at her serenely.

 

“Well, we have upped our security since your teen years,” Dr. Briefs said lightly, with a wink.

 

“Dad, no.”

 

“I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want, especially not in this circumstance, my dear,” her father told her with a small sigh. “But it _would_ be beneficial to at least get a status report from you, give us an idea of who we’re dealing with.”

 

Bulma bit the inside of her cheek. That was a slippery slope and he _knew_ it. Until all this drama, she was _happy_ with her life. Sure, she missed getting her hands deep in machinery and all the bleeding-edge technology her father’s company had. She missed being on the bleeding-edge, period. Hospitals were great, but they were so steeped in bureaucracy and regulation. It moved as slow as molasses.

 

While Capsule Corp was like no-man’s land. Anything goes.

 

But, she had tried so hard to live a life _outside_ of her father’s giant shadow and felt successful on her own terms. Heading back would be a giant concession on her part.

 

An acknowledgement that she could _never_ escape her last name.

 

As much as she adored her father, she didn’t want to _be him._

 

“Fine,” Bulma said finally, placing her hands on her hips. “I’ll write up all I know and observed the last 48 hours.”

 

Her father clasped his hands delightedly. “Excellent. That’s all I ask.”

 

To her surprise, her father leaned over and gathered her into a hug. She had to blink rapidly to keep the tears at bay as she embraced her dad. Dammit, she was getting way too soft… it was all this anxiety the past couple days, she told herself.

 

“Thank you, my dear,” he said as he pulled away from her.

 

“Just a write up,” Bulma said firmly as they walked out of the conference room.

 

“Yes, child,” he said, but his crinkling eyes said otherwise. He plucked his glasses and propped them back on his nose. “I don’t know about you, but I am _hungry.”_

 

“Right on time, honey!” her mother squealed, waving at them enthusiastically.

 

Bulma rolled her eyes in exasperation. Her family was crazy—

 

Bulma's lips tugged upward as her parents pecked each other lightly. God, still so in love after all these years...

 

—but they were _her_ family.

 

.

.

.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah. Vegeta at Capsule Corp. Ahem. ;-)


	24. Chapter 24

Chi-Chi couldn’t help it. She tried as hard a she could to stem the sound from her mouth, but she felt like she was choking. A small gasp, at first, followed by a cough… but before she knew it, she was bowled over, face red, laughing hysterically.

 

Lazuli and Bulma gaped at her like she was having a mental breakdown.

 

Chi-Chi realized she was.

 

But she had to laugh otherwise she’d cry.

 

“Amnesia,” Chi-Chi repeated, dissolving into another fit of giggles.

 

At that, Bulma grasped the folder from a shocked Dr. Korin’s hands, scanning through the contents. Chi-Chi took another deep breath and shook her head, forcing herself to continue smiling.

 

“Well, that explains a _lot_ ,” she said as flippantly as she could. She tapped her chin in an exaggerated manner. “But what it _doesn’t_ explain is why he pretended to know who the hell I was!”

 

“There were a lot of things going on, Ms. Mau,” Kami broke in quietly. “We weren’t sure who to trust at first.”

 

Chi-Chi burst into another fit of laughter, then wagged her finger at him. “Right. I could have been an agent f-for Frieza Kold.”

 

“Fucking WCPD,” Bulma muttered beside her, as she continued to scan the folder in her hands, clearly unimpressed. Chi-Chi was starting to concur with her friend.

 

“Oh, my god, just… amazing. This makes it what? The _third_ time this has happened?” Chi-Chi said aloud with a loud sigh. Dr. Korin started in front of her.

 

“Excuse me, Ms. Mau. Did you say _third time?”_

 

Chi-Chi waved a hand at him. “Oh I really doubt he had his head bashed in that many times in three decades, but he is _really_ determined to forget me. I should take the fucking hint. Yep.”

 

She was glad that Panchy had long since taken Gohan off with Dr. Briefs for lunch so he wouldn’t be witness to her hysteria. They’d had scrambled eggs earlier and so she was full, but her son was a bottomless pit.

 

“Ms. Mau, Mr. Korzen suffered a very serious—”

 

“I _know_ ,” Chi-Chi interrupted, trying to stem the sob rising in her throat. This was just the cherry on this shit sundae of a week. “I… I need a minute.”

 

Without waiting for anyone to say another word, she found her way to the bathroom and locked herself inside a stall. She didn’t cry, but she buried her face in her hands, all wrung out. It was as if all the mistakes of her past had compounded and now someone was breaking down the door to demand she pay her debts. She didn’t understand what she could have done to deserve such pain.

 

Why did loving the wrong person have this much consequence?

 

After five minutes of trying to get her heart back to a normal state, she heard a gentle knock on the door.

 

“Hey.” It was Bulma.

 

“I’m stupid,” Chi-Chi told the bathroom door.

 

She heard Bulma’s sigh outside the door and a shuffle of papers. “You want me to translate this better for you? Dr. Korin doesn’t know how to speak to normal people.”

 

Chi-Chi squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before running her hands through her hair.

 

“F-fine...”

 

“It doesn’t look great, Cheech.” Another sigh. More paper shuffling. “I mean… Recent stuff, he’ll recover just fine. It’s kinda crazy, actually, considering the beating he got.”

 

Chi-Chi swallowed. There’d been so much blood.

 

“He had to get a transfusion,” Bulma said, confirming Chi-Chi’s assumption that he _had_ lost that much. “He has a couple cracked ribs, sprained his right wrist and a ton of bruising. And yeah, his head is banged up, too…Nothing a good hospital stay can’t help, though. Is he some kind of mutant? Because he really should be worse off… I guess I see why Dad’s interested in testing him.”

 

Chi-Chi’s brows furrowed slightly at Bulma’s last line. Test? But before she could ask, Bulma went on.

 

“But the stuff that’s really concerning is the _old_ stuff.” She paused. “The _permanent_ stuff. It’s right around the part of your brain that deals with personality.”

 

Chi-Chi leaned back against the toilet, frowning. “What?”

 

“You said he acted weird when you guys first saw each other. I mean, amnesia is complicated, can do a lot of things… Most people think amnesia just erases blocks of time from a person’s mind, like not remembering what you did last week, last year… whatever. That’s not how the brain works, though. This MRI tells me...”

 

Bulma trailed off.

 

“Chi-Chi, I think you should get out of there. It’s weird talking to this door,” her friend said dryly.

 

Chi-Chi pressed her lips together and nodded at no one in particular as she opened the stall.

 

“Okay, so, thanks,” Bulma said, inclining her head as she emerged from the stall.

 

“What about the MRI?” Chi-Chi ventured. Bulma pursed her lips, her eyes narrowed and cautious.

 

“So you know you’re not his _wife_ right? Like technically, I shouldn’t even be telling you this.”

 

“Technically, he’s not supposed to be alive. Technically, no one’s supposed to be here,” Chi-Chi said flatly. She knew that Bulma was _emphasizing_ the reality of her relationship with Kakarrot, regardless of her how she felt about it.

 

“Touche,” Bulma said, though it was clear she was stalling.

 

“Just tell me,” Chi-Chi said sharply.

 

Bulma stared a her quietly, her clear blue eyes unwavering.

 

Finally:

 

“The man you knew no longer exists.”

 

.

.

.

 

Goku was surprised at the tentative knock at the door. The past few days had been full of people _barging_ into his life, his presence, without asking. He braced himself and cleared his throat.

 

“Come in,” he said clearly.

 

When he saw that familiar, round face, smiling tentatively up at him, Goku felt a rush of joy and relief.

 

“Krillin!” he gasped in surprise. “W-what…?”

 

“Hey, big buddy,” Krillin greeted, his smile widening at his friend’s reaction. “How’s it going? Wait. Stupid question. Don’t answer.”

 

Goku laughed lightly, filled with genuine happiness for the first time since coming to. Krillin was _familiar_ in a sea of confusion, a great guy regardless of circumstance. Goku felt a little pathetic about how desperately happy he found seeing Krillin, but after his chilling encounter with The Prince who all but _channeled_ pure hatred, it was a breath of fresh air to see that kind spark in Krillin’s eyes, the wide smile, the easy-going aura.

 

Krillin was his _friend_.

 

“What are you doing here?” Goku asked.

 

Krillin shrugged as he neared Goku’s side, pulling up a sliding chair nearby.

 

“I chauffeured the ladies here. God, Goku, do you only know knock-outs? I’ve seen Bulma Briefs on TV but _wow_ , she is crazy gorgeous in person! A-and their friend Lazuli looks like a _model_. All tall and willowy and blonde with these _amazing_ eyes—”

 

Goku smiled at Krillin’s babbling, though it wasn’t really clear _why_ he was driving all these women around or what he was doing here still. “Lazuli” was a name he hadn’t heard until now.

 

He did notice _one_ woman’s name Krillin omitted…

 

Still, it made Goku suddenly feel awkward about bringing _her_ up so he said nothing.

 

“Oh, sorry,” Krillin said, blushing and ducking his head. “It’s just… you know how I get around women.”

 

“It’s okay, Krill,” Goku said, feeling his heart warm at how Krillin’s stammering. Same old Krillin. Even after all this, his friend still looked at him no differently. Goku had been terrified at the idea that people would _all_ eventually hate him, the same way The Prince did. The idea that Krillin would be angry at him for bringing all this drama to his door had worried and upset Goku.

 

But Krillin was exuding such sympathy and warmth.

 

“You want me to talk to this Lazuli?” Goku offered, causing Krillin’s jaw to drop and his face to flush a deeper shade of red.

 

“Ah, Goku, you— I can’t believe you’re even _offering—_ you’re all banged up and still you want to—” Krillin was stumbling over his words. “This is ridiculous. I’m sorry. I’m making this _all_ about me and about _women_ which is the stupidest thing right now, especially after all you’ve—”

 

“No, no, it’s good, I’m… I’m glad, actually. It’s _normal_ ,” Goku said, barely suppressing his giant grin.

 

“I’m being stupid. Enough about women. Seriously, how _are_ you?” Krillin said, his voice dropping as he leaned forward with concern.

 

Goku’s automatic response was to tell him he was _fine —_ he was alive after all. And so was Bulma Briefs, Chi-Chi and Gohan.

 

But Goku found he couldn’t lie to his friend. His smile faded and he shook his head.

 

“Not good,” he murmured.

 

Krillin nodded slowly, his nose scrunching at Goku’s answer. “Sorry, big guy.”

 

“Stop apologizing, you haven’t done anything wrong,” Goku said gently.

 

“Yeah, but I feel like someone _should_ apologize to you. This is so shitty. You didn’t ask for this… and I know I probably shouldn’t be saying this, but...” Krillin shifted in his seat and leaned forward conspiratorially. Goku leaned forward as much as his injured torso allowed. “… you can tell them to all fuck off, you know.”

 

Goku blinked. He’d never heard Krillin be so harsh or swear like that.

 

“What do you mean?” Goku asked.

 

“I mean… they’re out there making plans for you and… don’t feel _pressured_ to go for it,” Krillin said tightly, seriously. “And I’m telling you this because those guys don’t have your best interests in mind. They _need_ you, but you can tell them _no,_ okay? You’re a free citizen!”

 

Goku regarded his well-meaning friend, his passionate defense and felt his heart warm further. Despite all the horrors of the past few days, seeing Krillin like this made him remember _good people_ were still out there in the world.

 

“You’re a free citizen, too, right, Krillin?” Goku said finally after he silently contemplated the shorter man’s words. Krillin nodded slowly in response. “And you worked… really hard to get there. I mean, I don’t know the details of what you _did_ when you were arrested, but you paid your debts. You have the restaurant.”

 

“Yes,” Krillin said firmly, nodding.

 

“So why are you _her_ _e?_ ” Goku asked softly.

 

Krillin blinked, clearly surprised at the question. “What are you _talking_ about? You’re my friend.”

 

“But this isn’t your fight.”

 

“Yeah, but what kind of guy would I be if I abandoned my friend at this time of need?” Krillin sounded aghast, bewildered at this conversation.

 

“Right,” Goku said and nodded.

 

They both looked at each other silently for a while, before understanding sparked behind Krillin’s eyes. The smaller man heaved a sigh and shook his head.

 

“Goku. It’s different. Me driving people around—I mean, that used to be my, uh, ‘job’ before the restaurant. That was… what I did,” Krillin said slowly, confusing Goku slightly.

 

What in the world was _illegal_ about driving people around? Wasn’t that was taxis were for?

 

“But that’s not a _big deal_. I’m not putting my life on the line… _much_. But you _literally_ decided to face a… a _master assassin_ for god’s sake, and you barely even know your real name!”

 

Krillin gave him a disbelieving laugh at his answering shrug. It _did_ sound outlandish when he put it that way! Goku almost felt like laughing, too, at the absurdity of it all if it wasn’t _so real._

 

“All for what? Because someone told you, you _should?_ For the greater _good?_ ”

 

“A woman, then _a child’s life_ was on the line,” Goku said firmly, his voice low. “I _had_ to.”

 

Krillin fell silent, clearly trying to gather his thoughts to explain himself further. But, Goku suspected whatever he was going to say wasn’t going to sway him. It was rather black and white to Goku: someone needed help and _he_ was able to do it. And it wasn’t simple like a favor you can brush off like moving furniture or something inane; these were people’s lives!

 

Goku had a responsibility!

 

“You really did have to, didn’t you?” Krillin said finally, rubbing his bald head with a rueful smile. “That… even with your amnesia thing. This is _who you are._ You were born a hero. _”_

 

Goku rolled his eyes. “That’s a bit much.”

 

Krillin angled his head and crossed his arms. “I don’t think so.”

 

A soft knock interrupted their conversation; it sounded even more hesitant than Krillin’s. Light.

 

“Okay, I guess that’s my time. Rest up. Don’t forget what I said,” Krillin said, getting off the chair. “And for what it’s worth… you’re amazing.”

 

Goku flushed, unsure if he really deserved his friend’s praise. He truly had no _choice_ in the matter. He was lucky he was alive! He was about to say just that when he heard his door open again and large, dark eyes met his.

 

Suddenly, the room felt too warm.

 

“Oh, hey Chi-Chi, I’m just going,” Krillin said pleasantly.

 

She tore her eyes away. “Sorry, did you need a few more minutes?”

 

“No, no, go… uh, go... talk,” Krillin said finally, angling Goku a strange, almost _knowing_ glance. He patted Goku’s arm absentmindedly, a comforting gesture, before leaving him alone with the one person he wasn’t sure how to handle.

 

Killers to kooky doctors — sure.

 

But this woman? The woman in _those_ baffling dreams…?

 

Goku had to stem himself from calling out to Krillin to beg him to return.

 

“Hi,” she said.

 

Goku swallowed.

 

.

.

.

 

He looked pretty awful, if Chi-Chi was honest.

 

His bleached hair was in complete disarray, his face a rainbow of shades — though mostly purple, red, black, yellow. His chest was bare, except for the endless bandages around his middle. Despite that, she could still see the clear outline of his muscles, so large and defined peeking through the fabric.

 

He looked awful _and_ fantastic and Chi-Chi could barely stem herself from bursting into tears at seeing him cleaned up without blood streaming from every angle of his body.

 

He sat up further up the bed, and she saw him wince. Instinctively, she reached over — she was a nurse after all — one hand on his chest, the other behind his shoulder, to help prop him up.

 

And it was odd to see his eyes back to “normal” — though bleached hair would take a while to fade and grow out, the teal contacts were gone. Chi-Chi had been unprepared for the effect that gave her, the way his dark eyes landed on her face.

 

It was _him_.

 

But not.

 

Chi-Chi knew that, now.

 

“All right, then?” Chi-Chi asked quietly, as she tried very hard to examine him in a clinical manner. Before he could answer, she looked to the side and found a clipboard by his bed and reviewed it.

 

“They haven’t refilled your meds, have they?” she asked, though she felt stupid and silly. She wasn’t here to be his _nurse_ , but he was in pain and it was easy to fall back to habit, to focus on that to delay the inevitable.

 

Kakarrot looked at her and shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve only been awake for about an hour.”

 

“Pain from one to ten? One being a stubbed toe, and ten is dying,” she said brusquely, then bit the inside of her cheek at that last one. The last one was too close.

 

He stared at her quietly, then looked down at his torso. “I don’t know. Five maybe? My side hurts more than anything else.”

 

Chi-Chi nodded. “Your ribs. Okay, tell me if this...”

 

She trailed off and lightly placed her fingers over this side, the way she’s always been taught, and had done a thousand times before with other people. He was staring at her _so_ intently, so… god, it was easy to pretend he _knew_ her, to add _meaning_ to that gaze, as opposed to the probable reality that he was just trying to figure out what she was trying to do.

 

He hissed eventually as her fingers reached a particular tender spot, his hand landing over hers automatically, to pause her movements.

 

Chi-Chi swallowed a gasp and stilled, her eyes flying to his.

 

Both of them drew their hands back quickly.

 

She had to give herself a small shake to remind herself to take a step back, take a breath. She looked around wildly, to see where there would be meds and finding none, she sighed and flashed him a tight, small smile.

 

“Okay, when we’re done here I’ll remind Dr. Korin to give you a couple of Vicodin to make you feel a little better,” she told him, placing the clipboard back to its slot.

 

He nodded and Chi-Chi wished she had something in her hands to keep her busy. But since there was nothing, she simply clasped them together. The room fell silent and Kakarrot was looking at her expectantly, patiently…

 

“How is Gohan?” he asked finally, his eyes screwed in concern.

 

Oh god she wasn’t prepared for this. She wasn’t ready.

 

She wasn’t ready to talk about their son.

 

“Good. He’s… having lunch right now, with Dr. B,” she told him, like they were simply polite company discussing the weather. “He’s going to bring yours over when they’re done.”

 

She saw him smile at that, and to her shock, his eyes took on a tell-tale sheen.

 

“Oh, good, good to hear,” he managed.

 

This was unbearable, Chi-Chi thought in despair. As each awkward silent second passed, it became so _obvious_ to Chi-Chi that this wasn’t the Kakarrot she knew. He looked the same, but held himself differently. His voice, his mannerisms were _wrong...all wrong._ She still remembered how he held himself when he’d been shot all those years ago — and while he (miraculously) had no gun wounds this time, he was definitely in pain right now.

 

But _now_ there was a strange… calmness around him. Like he’d _accepted_ this state. A weariness, similar to last time, but he seemed _less_ angry despite the circumstances.

 

He dropped their gaze first, looking away.

 

He looked _so_ uncomfortable around her, and why wouldn’t he be?

 

She was a _stranger_ to him, who’d been treating and speaking to him like they were a _thing_.

 

Which, even _without_ this amnesia, was a complete fantasy. _His_ memory may be gone, but _she_ had no excuse for how she was behaving.

 

Kakarrot had been clear five years ago, when he ended things, that he didn’t share her feelings.

 

Even though it hurt to hear Bulma’s harsh reminders, it was _reality_.

 

She was a mother.

 

She couldn’t afford to live in a fantasy land.

 

“Look, I know you don’t remember me,” she said.

 

He whipped his eyes back to hers.

 

Yep, definitely not the Kakarrot she knew. He’d never given her such an openly vulnerable look. _Her_ Kakarrot always hid his true feelings; it was always hard to tell his real mood. The man before her looked… surprised, wary, worried.

 

“And it’s… well, it’s not _fine_ , but I understand why you kept it to yourself. Other things going on,” she said tiredly. “Other more important things than remembering your ex— whatever I was.”

 

His brows furrowed at her flippant words, but kept silent.

 

“That’s not important, it doesn’t matter,” Chi-Chi added quickly, with a small mirthless laugh. “But what matters is that we’re honest with each other from _now on._ I’d like to start out on a clean slate.”

 

He blinked at her. “Oh.”

 

Chi-Chi didn’t know how to take his non-response, so she barreled forward. It didn’t matter how she felt. How she _felt_ got her into this mess. If she thought _more_ about her son, less about her stupid feelings, her stupid impulses…

 

She stuck her hand out. “Hi, I’m Chi-Chi. And you are?”

 

He looked at her hand and flashed her a tentative smile. His hand reached out, his fingers brushing against hers lightly. Right, sprained wrist, Chi-Chi thought faintly.

 

“Gok—I mean, Kaka—” he stumbled.

 

Chi-Chi pressed her fingers tightly against his palm. “How would you like me to call you?”

 

His lips parted in clear surprise. He hadn’t expected that.

 

His eyes danced across her face for a moment, before finally:

 

“Goku, please.”

 

Chi-Chi felt her heart clench as tears clogged her throat. This was real.

 

Kakarrot was _gone_.

 

She nodded and forced a smile through her lips.

 

“Hi, Goku,” she said. Her own voice sounded reedy and faint to her ears.

 

He rubbed his thumb against the back of hand, but based on his unwavering gaze, she wasn’t sure he even noticed himself doing it. Still, the movement caused goosebumps to trail up Chi-Chi’s arm.

 

She should pull away but couldn’t find the strength to do so.

 

“You can still call me Kakarrot, if you want,” he said, clearly sensing her distress.

 

Chi-Chi swallowed and shook her head.

 

“No, this makes it easier,” she said tightly.

 

One day, it will be easier, she told herself.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s fine, I’m being… it’s not your problem,” Chi-Chi said, finally pulling her hand away. She had to be strong. After that talk with Bulma, she knew what she had to do. She sighed and rubbed her cheek. “You weren’t the only person who kept something… because other things… got in the way.”

 

She took a steadying breath, but before she could say anything, he read her thoughts correctly:

 

“Gohan is my son.”

 

It wasn’t a question.

 

Chi-Chi blinked rapidly. Don’t cry, don’t cry, she told herself.

 

“Yes,” she said evenly.

 

Kaka—no, _Goku_ nodded shortly, his gaze turning far away.

 

“If you want a paternity test—” Chi-Chi began awkwardly, her face flushing. Goku reared back slightly, looking almost scandalized.

 

“Why?”

 

Chi-Chi lifted her hands helplessly. “I don’t know. You don’t know me.”

 

Goku’s eyes softened. “I can tell you’re a good woman. Why would you lie to me?”

 

Chi-Chi’s lips parted, unsure how to take that assessment.

 

“I don’t...” she took a steadying breath. She was _thisclose_ to breaking down and she really didn’t want to do that in front of a stranger. “Anyway. I… I don’t know what you want to do with this info. It’s been me and Gohan for all this time and… with everything that’s happening and maybe _going_ to happen…”

 

Chi-Chi wasn’t sure what she was saying exactly. This wasn’t going how she planned. It seemed so much more straightforward when she spoke to Bulma about what she wanted to do and what she wanted to say, but now, in this room alone with him…

 

He had that same blank look to his face, no affection or heat; hell, maybe there was even _pity_ in that gaze.

 

You poor, stupid soul, she imagined him thinking.

 

It felt like a repeat of that horrible night, the one where he told her in no uncertain terms he didn’t love her, that it was over.

 

But dammit, Chi-Chi was older and wiser now. It had been _five_ years. She could almost see Bulma crossing her arms, saying what was logical. Telling her the _truth_.

 

Still, Chi-Chi was still awfully emotional and she couldn’t quite help how she _felt…_ but she sure as hell knew she could change her behavior.

  
For her son.

 

“I’d like to see him,” Goku said quietly, clearing his throat. “I’ve… I love kids.”

 

“Yeah?” Chi-Chi managed. Goku nodded with a small smile, looking boyish and shy.

 

Kakarrot had never been shy. Little by little, Chi-Chi had to remind herself that she didn’t love this man before her. She loved a ghost.

 

“I’d like to be in his life,” he said.

 

Chi-Chi clenched her jaw and clasped her hands, feeling her heart slow and cool.

 

He was not Kakarrot.

 

He’ll _never_ be Kakarrot.

 

“Yes, of course,” she said calmly, kindly.

 

“Great, thank you,” he said, and it sounded like he was so genuinely thankful that Chi-Chi felt her lips tug upward. She had braced herself for whatever scenario befell her; including the rejection of his son. So she was happy that, imperfect as her family was, that she could give her son _this_ , at the very least.

 

“Do you want… do you want me to get him now?” Chi-Chi asked quietly.

 

“You don’t think he’d get _scared_ seeing me like this?” He looked down at himself and gestured at his face, his eyes shimmering with uncertainty.

 

“He saw how you were at the ambulance. This is an improvement,” she told him with a hint of dryness.

 

Instead of being comforted, his face fell.

 

“… a boy _shouldn’t_ have to see that,” he said seriously. He looked away, then down to his hands. When he lifted his head again, Chi-Chi nearly had a heart attack.

 

Kakarrot stared back at her.

 

 _No. Goku,_ she screamed at herself.

 

But it felt like someone had shoved her into a time machine to confront Kakarrot, his face contorted in pain, pleading… his dark eyes boring into hers like she had the answers to life itself, that nothing else existed in the world but them, at that moment.

 

Chi-Chi felt faint, her breath catching.

 

 _Bulma showed you permanent brain damage, you stupid, desperate, lovesick…_ Chi-Chi felt her fingers dig into her palms. _He doesn’t love you. He never did back then. He doesn’t love you now. He’ll never love you. You tried for almost twenty-five years. Stop it, stop it, stop it._

 

“If… if it’s better that he _not_ know me, to keep him _safe_ , I’m… I… I’ll have to live with that. If you think that’s best, I _can_ live with that.”

 

The anguish in his voice said otherwise.

 

His eyes said otherwise.

 

For a moment, Chi-Chi wanted to say yes.

 

She wanted to claw at him, she wanted to _hurt_ him, because she felt like she was drowning and he was holding her just beneath the water, taunting her. She was so close to him, but _not him_. She didn’t know why, decade after decade, he dangled in front of her, just out of reach — and for a brief moment in time, she had him; she could close her eyes, feel him inside her, hear his heart beat in time, be held (cherished) as the sweat of their bodies cooled and he spoke softly against her skin.

 

But that moment was gone.

 

How she felt didn’t matter.

 

Gohan was all that mattered now.

 

“Don’t be silly,” she said, and she sounded faraway, even to herself. She forced the words through her mouth, knowing they were _right_ , though she was falling into pieces. “You can see Gohan whenever you want, all right?”

 

His gaze flickered uncertainly. “Are you—”

 

“A lot of cops have children. What you do is a reality we have to deal with,” Chi-Chi said firmly. “We’ll deal with it as a family.”

 

And like that, Kakarrot was gone.

 

It was insane, Chi-Chi thought, trying to stifle another hysterical giggle. All it took was the pain to ebb from his face, to be replaced with a damnably goofy smile — so unlike _him_. She was messed up that she _wanted_ the tortured expression, if only to be reunited with what she’d been familiar.

 

It was wrong on so many levels. Staring at this… _version_ of Kakarrot, this Goku, being confronted with how different he was, made Chi-Chi’s blood boil. She knew he wasn’t doing it on purpose, because of _course_ it wasn’t his fault he had amnesia.

 

But she felt like she was being _mocked_ , like a starving woman being offered a steak, only to be given a squeaky plastic toy in the same shape.

 

“Thank you,” he said, his expression friendly and relatively meaningless.

 

“You’re welcome,” Chi-Chi said stiffly, suddenly needing to get out of the room. This was too much. She thought being in that interrogation room or the precinct had been bad… but she’d been _protected_ with the delusion that he was still Kakarrot.

 

It hurt to look at _Goku_.

 

So she was startled when he reached out and grasped her wrist as she turned to go. Her skin burned like she was being branded.

 

She hated that she trembled slightly at his touch.

 

“I know this is hard,” he said. “But you said we’re supposed to be honest with each other from now on.”

 

He sounded mildly reproachful, his lips twisted to the side. _Kakarrot_.

 

“I don’t know what to think,” she said as honestly as she could.

 

“Neither do I,” he said calmly, his hold on her wrist firm. Dammit, he was doing that thumb thing again, but this time against her pulse point. Did he not _see_ what he was doing? How he was affecting her?

 

“I want you to know that I _know_ this is hard, and that you’re being very _very_ generous with me, and you don’t have to be. So when I say _thank you_ , I mean it. It’s not empty. I am _really_ grateful that you’re sharing your son with me.”

 

“Our son,” she found herself saying.

 

He dropped her wrist.

 

“Yes,” he said.

 

She wasn’t sure if she was looking at Goku or Kakarrot now, with those warm, heavy-lidded eyes, crinkled at the corners, his mouth open in that devastating half-grin.

 

All she knew was that if she wasn’t going to leave in the next five seconds, she was going to do something stupid.

 

She rubbed her wrist where he’d held her as she stalked out of the room.

 

.

.

.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's check in on the other CC resident...

_Somewhere on Capsule Corp…_

 

 

While Chi-Chi was busy introducing her child to his father, Bulma wasn’t idle. Bulma kept her chin up as she walked briskly alongside her father, who was… strolling _._ _He is way too relaxed about this,_ she thought with a worried pang.

 

She had to figure out the current status of the _other_ super secret resident of Capsule Corp.

 

Though her father had laughed off her statement about her mother being murdered in her sleep, Bulma hadn’t really been joking. She wouldn’t put it past a man like that — the entire point of the current drama was _revenge_ , and Bulma was certain her name (and thus, her family’s name) was now added on his “Vendetta Kill List.”

 

She wanted to see with her own eyes how the situation was… contained.

 

She was surprised, however, when she was led not to where she knew were a bank of rooms but unfamiliar conference spaces.

 

“Where are we, dad?” Bulma asked. Dr. Briefs didn’t look at her as they continued walking down the sleek empty hallway.

 

“This is an addition we added after you left. I told you we co-operate with the authorities… we tend to work on their high-profile cases only, though,” Dr. Briefs said easily.

 

He stopped so abruptly that Bulma nearly ran into her father when he paused at an empty wall. He calmly placed his right palm on the surface and lowered his glasses with the other hand. Bulma heard a small ping, then tiny little red lasers shoot out from the same wall, scanning his face and palm.

 

She blinked, awed and fascinated — only her dad was capable of her _impressing_ her after all these years.

 

After a few scans, there was a _whirr,_ then a click, and the formerly smooth wall depressed and became a door.

 

“After you, my dear,” Dr. Briefs said cheerfully, sweeping his hand to direct her to this room.

 

“Titanium alloy?” Bulma asked as the door swished behind her, becoming seamless once more. Briefly, they were plunged into darkness, before a few more beeps and then LED lights flickered and illuminated another hallway.

 

“A mix of that and some carbon fibre for flexibility,” Dr. Briefs said, inclining his head.

 

“Nice, dad.”

 

“A lot has happened since you left,” Dr. Briefs said, his hands behind his back as he led her down the winding corridor.

 

“Looks like.”

 

They continued a companionable silence as Bulma looked at her surroundings, taking it all in. She missed this, being surrounding by the best kind of technology. Her father always enjoyed using Capsule Corp as the guinea pig for all new materials and experiments. Her pulse raced with familiar excitement. It was invigorating to be here.

 

“Okay, here we are,” Dr. Briefs said, finally stopping by a solid steel wall. He placed his palm against the smooth surface, lowered his glasses, and the same technique that let him in through the front seemed to apply to this door as well.

 

“No card access, no code — everything is facial and touch ID?” Bulma asked, raising her brows.

 

“No handles, no escape,” Dr. Briefs said. “No codes, no cracking.”

 

“Where’s this data stored?” Bulma asked, frowning, thinking of all the privacy implications and wondering what would happen if her father’s face and fingerprints were compromised.

 

“Nowhere,” Dr. Briefs grinned. “And everywhere. It’s constantly being parsed through encryption, then gets scrambled. It’s tied to _live_ heart rate, too. Means if someone was being coerced to use their face and hands to open the doors, it would assess level of stress.”

 

“What if there was a fire? What if the stress level was to get out?” Bulma asked.

 

“It would check if any of the fire or CO2 alarms were tripped before checking for stress level. If they were tripped and stress level was detected, then it would open automatically.”

 

“So all _he_ has to do is start a fire, kidnap staff and shove their face and hand to the wall,” Bulma pointed out coolly.

 

Dr. Briefs angled Bulma a small smile. “You would also have to say the safety trigger sentence. If not, then the doors won’t open. There’s two and they both open the door. But the _wrong_ one will notify security. We’ve done the drills. They arrive in less than 60 seconds. Simulation states that is ample time for take down.”

 

Bulma pursed her lips. Okay. That was the best she could think of in the immediate circumstance.

 

“Not that it matters in the end,” Dr. Briefs said with a shrug. “We both know 90% of all security breaches are social in nature. Human error.”

 

He paused and looked at her askance.

 

“That was how you were able to access the Prince at Wukong was it not?”

 

Bulma’s lips parted as she gaped at her father.

 

“Those were _our_ men guarding that room,” Dr. Briefs said with a light laugh. “They’ve since been reprimanded for their lapse in judgement, though it’s hard to be upset when it’s your own daughter who outsmarted them. Still testing our security protocol even outside of Capsule Corp.”

 

“Dad—”

 

“It helped us out a bit. Gave us an excuse to move him sooner without much preamble,” Dr. Briefs said. He paused in front of black door with no handles.

 

Bulma didn’t have a chance to say more, to _explain_ , when he pushed through the door — it was a simple swinging one this time — and they reached what was clearly some sort of clear-walled room. It wasn’t glass, she knew, probably some sort of clear plastic hybrid that was super thick and hard to penetrate.

 

It was a prison.

 

He was lying down on a small single bed — not strapped down — his arms crossed over his chest like a goddamn _vampire_ as he stared at the ceiling. She could see his fingers twitch, creating rhythmic patterns on his torso. He was wearing a grey jumpsuit that looked like a regular old Capsule Corporation sanitary employee uniform. It didn’t fit him well; it was too large in some parts like the pants, too small in others like his arms.

 

Bulma’s heart thudded in her ears.

 

He hadn’t noticed them enter.

 

“Sound proofed,” Dr. Briefs explained. “And mirrored. He can’t see us. But we can see him.”

 

Bulma stepped forward and pressed her hand against the clear wall, her fingers splayed.

 

“Go ahead, take a look. See if you can spot any vulnerabilities and we can address them as soon as possible,” Dr. Briefs told her.

 

Bulma was already scanning anything and everything in the room. It was similar to a threadbare living room with no corners to hide, brightly lit. She noted the open toilet and sink with a towel and small bar of soap. She saw the tray on a small table with a blue plastic glass of water and what looked to be several pills, untouched.

 

She also couldn’t help but notice everything the room was rounded; not a sharp point in sight.

 

“He tore off any bandages he had when he was brought here. He refuses to take any medication for pain. He grows violent if we send an orderly through,” Dr. Briefs explained. “He hasn’t eaten since he got here; flushes the food down the toilet.”

 

Bulma frowned at her father’s words as she found the tablet with all the digital info on his health. He, too, had a couple fractured ribs, a hairline fracture to his collar bone _and_ his left hand was definitely _broken_. She looked up and noticed for the first time how swollen and purple his fingers were and that he was cradling it with his healthy hand over his chest, trying to elevate it. She noted that the top of his shirt was _clinging to him_ , as he was sweating, but the gauge off to the side showed it was a comfortable room temperature.

 

The bruises on his face looked _new,_ brighter almost, against his unnaturally pale pallor.

 

He looked _worse_ than at Wukong.

 

He was in grave pain… and toughing it out, Bulma realized.

 

“We wanted to wait another day to give him a chance to comply _willingly_ before we sedate him and force the treatment,” Dr. Briefs said with a small head shake.

 

“He’s not going to do anything willingly,” Bulma said, her voice tight. “He’s suicidal.”

 

Dr. Briefs looked at her silently for a beat. “Indeed.”

 

“He’ll try to kill anyone who tries to touch him,” Bulma said frankly.

 

“We’ll use gas,” Dr. Briefs said calmly. “The room is completely contained.”

 

Bulma felt a chill down her spine. This was too much. Why was her father so calm? This was… she felt like they were running a fancy concentration camp.

 

“It’s _kinder_ ,” Dr. Briefs said, angling at look at his daughter knowingly. “It’s just sleeping gas, the same type of anesthetic you use for surgery. He’d fall asleep, won’t harm anyone… it would allow us to make him more comfortable, so he doesn’t hurt himself or others.

 

But we wanted to give him the _choice_ first — we _do_ need his help. We need to establish that we are on _his_ side.”

 

Bulma felt her throat close up with unexpected emotion as her other hand splayed against the wall. She was confused over how much she pitied him. He _should_ be suffering!

 

Still, her conversation with her father earlier resonated. Sacrifices had to be made if they wanted to accomplish the greater goal of taking down Frieza Kold. Her acrimonious feelings for this man needed to take a back seat to focus on the task at hand.

 

She sucked air through her teeth.

 

“I want to talk to him,” she found herself saying.

 

Dr. Briefs adjusted his glasses. “Are you sure, my dear?”

 

 _No_.

 

“It’s fine,” she said.

 

He gestured at a spot on the clear wall with a barely perceptibly outline of a microphone inside a circle besides another with a small speaker icon.

 

“Press the microphone or speaker to speak or listen. Press again to mute,” Dr. Briefs explained.

 

Bulma nodded, opting to press the speaker first. The circle around it glowed blue, indicating it was on.

 

He was humming the same tune when he’d carried her drugged out of her mind.

 

She clenched her jaw. Bastard.

 

She pressed the mic.

 

“Hey, asshole!” Bulma barked. Her father jumped at her harsh exclamation.

 

His humming and finger tapping stopped immediately, but he said nothing in response. He continued to stare the ceiling.

 

“No, you’re not hallucinating,” she went on huffily, trying to insert as much venom in her voice. “It’s me.”

 

He remained silent, still as a statue.

 

“It’s no use, my dear,” her father said. “He doesn’t talk to anyone. He hasn’t spoken a word since he came here.”

 

At her father’s words, she saw his fingers twitch slightly. He’d heard.

 

“Look, you prick, this silent treatment is fucking childish,” Bulma said sharply. “Stop being such a sore loser.”

 

“ _Bulma_...” Her father sounded a little startled and exasperated at her language.

 

She lifted her a finger at her dad to stem his words and mouthed to him, “Trust me.”

 

Dr. Briefs shook his head, but waved at her to continue. Bulma nodded and turned back to the wall.

 

“If you take your meds, I’ll come back tomorrow,” Bulma said coolly, calmly.

 

There wasn’t an obvious response, but she noticed he started massaging his injured hand.

 

“You think you’re having some psychotic break right now, right? Because you’re such an idiot and in a haze of pain. You think this stupid humming is enough to get through the day? What a _macho_ delusion!”

 

Bulma’s father reached out to her to stem her words, but she batted his hand away. There was a point to this and she was going to see it through.

 

“What a way to die! In your own _filth_. Ew.”

 

Bulma proceeded to make theatrical retching sounds to punctuate her point. She saw her father lower his head in his hands from the corner of her eye.

 

Meanwhile, Bulma noticed the Prince’s fingers twitch.

 

“Maybe I’m here, maybe I’m not — you won’t know for sure unless you take your meds, right?” she pressed on. She could feel her father’s gaze boring into her side as she continued.

 

“You look _gross._ I’m embarrassed for you. I hope you’re cleaned up when I come back here tomorrow,” she went on blithely. “And also: fuck you.”

 

She pressed the speaker and microphone controls with a flourish, ending the communication.

 

She finally managed to unsettle her father who looked at her slack-jawed.

 

“He’s prissy,” Bulma said with a shrug, as if that explained it all.

 

But it _did_.

 

Bulma spent enough time with the man at the gym — _weeks!_ — to observe how carefully he’d taken care of himself, from his physique to his clothes; how he was always impeccably clean-shaven and his hair combed _just so,_ so it went up like a light flame.

 

The way he carried himself, always with his shoulders back — he had excellent posture — always exuded an air of self-assurance. And his taste in luxury goods, brands like _Chopard_ that only a connoisseur would be familiar with, told her that he was thoughtful about how he presented himself.

 

He _liked_ to be put together, _liked_ nice things.

 

Hell, his nickname was “The Prince” wasn’t it? Did that not shout from the heavens that he was pretentious and egotistical?

 

He was _proud_ — and Bulma just pointed out that he was disgusting and lying in a pool of his own sweat.

 

She was gambling, she knew, making a lot of assumptions over their recent interactions. That small exchange took a lot out of her, but she suspected she was on target with her barbs. There wasn’t any logic to that — she had a gut _feeling_.

 

As a scientist, all she could do is observe what happened next: test her hypothesis.

 

This wasn’t a man who responded to gentle coaxing.

 

She noticed her dad was staring at her strangely. She didn’t want to worry him so she pinned a smile to her face.

 

“Well, it was worth a try. Let’s see if he takes his meds. If he does, give me a call,” Bulma said, already making a beeline toward the exit, not waiting for her father’s response.

 

She was _in this_ now.

 

.

.

.

 

_On the other side of Capsule Corp…_

 

A melodic-sounding knock rapped against his door. It seemed Krillin was the only one capable of waiting for a response since the door opened without preamble. Goku expected Chi-Chi so he was startled to see a buxom blonde woman of a certain age decidedly _sashay_ toward him while holding a tray of liquids.

 

Goku marveled over the fact that she seemed to be able to do all of this with what looked to be four-inch stilettos. He wasn’t an expert in women’s fashion but he’d heard enough complaints from Launch and Mai about female dress code in both work and play to understand it was very difficult to balance in those types of shoes.

 

But not far behind _was_ Chi-Chi, her head turned and angled down—

 

He saw a small head peek behind Chi-Chi’s toned legs.

 

Goku clutched at his sheets.

 

“Oh my _gosh,_ so handsome, Chi-Chi! Good for you!”

 

Goku nearly jumped out of his skin at the high-pitched voice coming from the blonde, his jaw loosening when the woman eagerly placed the food tray down to the side to… well, there was no other way to describe it but _loom_ _over_ him _._

 

“Ah, _Mrs. B—”_ Chi-Chi sounded like she was on the verge of laughing but trying hard not to, as she angled him a look that seemed to be apologetic. Goku’s lips tugged upward at her expression; she seemed _so sad_ when they’d spoken alone, and it was really nice to see the smile on her face.

 

Goku gasped when he felt the blonde woman rake her manicured nails lightly down his stomach.

 

“Wow, even with the bandages, I can see your six pack, yum yum!” the woman, Mrs. B — Dr. Briefs’ wife? — giggled.

 

“Oh, _jeez_ , Mrs. B, that’s enough!” Chi-Chi sounded choked and embarrassed. Goku had no idea what to say or do — this was just so odd! He heard tiny laughter muffled behind Chi-Chi’s legs and his pulse quickened.

 

“Oh, can you blame this old woman for indulging a little? I’m married, not dead,” the blonde tittered, flashing Goku a shameless wink. “No _wonder_ Gohan is such a cutie. He gets those genes from you!”

 

At that, Goku slanted a look behind Chi-Chi. He saw a little person duck behind her further.

 

“Oh, come on baby, why’re you hiding?” Chi-Chi asked softly, her arms moving behind her.

 

“Come on Gohan, go say hi to your daddy,” Mrs. B cajoled, leaning toward Chi-Chi and nudging her with her elbow.

  
Goku heard the young boy whisper something but he was too far away for him to hear. As every second passed, Goku felt his heart beat harder. What if Gohan hated him? Was this why he was hiding? His son didn’t want to meet him..? Or was his face so scary, he felt like hiding?

 

He knew he looked a mess.

 

But Chi-Chi said he would be fine. She was a smart woman, a good mom. She wouldn’t bring their son to him if she thought he’d be scared… right?

 

Now both Mrs. B and Chi-Chi were crouching and having a quiet conversation with the boy, who kept whispering in Chi-Chi’s ear. He could see Gohan glance at him several times while he whispered in Chi-Chi’s ear, who nodded intermittently.

 

After a few more moments of this, Chi-Chi stood up and turned to him.

 

“He’s a dragon, apparently,” Chi-Chi said, her voice wry and amused. She was _really_ smiling now, her eyes crinkled and her teeth gnawing on her lip to stem the laughter stuck in her throat.

 

She was beautiful.

 

Goku tore his eyes away, startled at the sudden thought.

 

“Yeah?” Goku’s own voice sounded like a croak, and he wasn’t sure if it was because he was nervous to finally talk to Gohan or because Chi-Chi looked so _happy,_ so clearly endeared by their son, and it was making him feel all sorts of strange.

 

“Yeah, he says he transformed sometime between breakfast and lunch,” Chi-Chi said in a tone that was mock-serious.

 

“Gohan, go say hi,” Mrs. B prodded, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Don’t be shy!”

 

Gohan tugged on Chi-Ch’s shirt, causing her neckline to lower and Goku got an eyeful of the gentle swell of her breasts. He blinked rapidly, shifting in the bed uncomfortably as he averted his gaze. His dreams had always been vague, but for some reason her busom had always been… quite clear.

 

“Okay, give him a _roar_ then, dragon,” Chi-Chi said finally, waving toward him.

 

Gohan jumped out and made his hands into claws, letting out a tiny growl.

 

Goku felt his throat close with emotion.

 

“O-oh wow, that’s scary,” Goku managed.

 

“I can do another kind of roar,” Gohan piped up quietly, suddenly scrambling to climb the bed, all pretense of shyness gone. Chi-Chi reached out, and Goku tried not to notice that she hadn’t readjusted her shirt so her cleavage was still clearly out on display.

 

“Baby, baby, you have to be careful, don’t climb on the bed—”

 

Goku reached his uninjured arm to Gohan, who grasped it eagerly. He swallowed the shooting pain on his side, determined to keep a brave face in front of his boy.

 

“No, no it’s okay, he’s careful. You’re careful, right… son?”

 

Gohan’s eyes widened, his cheeks flushing at his simple acknowledgement. Goku pushed back the lump down his throat as he regarded his son — he had his _eyes_. Maybe his jaw? He had no doubt this was his baby boy.

 

He was amazing.

 

His child went silent. As the seconds of silence ticked, Goku began to panic. He said it too soon, he was practically a stranger who looked like a monster, and my god, what was he thinking, he ruined this, Gohan probably hated and was scared of—

 

He felt a warm, steadying hand on his arm. His eyes flew up at Chi-Chi who squeezed his limb and gave him such a serene look, his racing pulse began to slow down. She seemed to have sensed his distress… Her presence was a soothing balm to his nerves, her natural warmth and kindness washing over him.

 

“Gohan, your father asked you a question,” Chi-Chi said softly. Goku’s heart lurched at Chi-Chi’s statement. He was a father. “Will you be careful?”

 

He was a _father_.

 

“Oh!” Gohan exclaimed, and to Goku’s amazement, tucked his head under his uninjured arm, where Chi-Chi’s hand was on. Gohan reached out and touched Chi-Chi’s hand, connecting all three of them.

 

Despite all the destruction of the past few days, Goku felt dizzy with happiness.

 

This was _right_.

 

He had a family.

 

Extremely expressive eyes looked up from the crook of his arm. Goku vowed he was going to do everything in his power to protect this person for the rest of his life.

 

“Yes… daddy.”

 

.

.

.


	26. Chapter 26

The Prince gingerly sat up from his bedside, carefully trying not to jostle himself. He nearly fell to his knees when he pushed himself off the bed, but braced himself just in time. He took several moments to catch his breath—

 

Bulma pressed stop on the tablet, the security footage on the screen freezing. She ran a frustrated hand through her short, blue strands and growled at the screen. It had been five days since he’d been brought to Capsule Corp.

 

Five days since she started compiling as much info as she could based on her observation and interactions.

 

She looked at the laptop with her notes beside the tablet and felt no closer to any answers than at the start. When he wasn’t simply grunting in some sort of acknowledgement he was listening as either herself or her father asked questions, he was off staring into space, silent and indecipherable.

 

She’d been so motivated by the fact he _had_ taken his meds after their encounter, thinking that perhaps he had done it because _she_ had asked him too — only to realize that maybe he’d simply reached his pain threshold and the timing had been coincidental to her visit.

 

Still, he continued to take his medicine since that first visit; had also kept the bandages that her father and herself had placed on him — after he’d been heavily sedated, barely conscious, of course. As he grew in strength, minute as it was, he started to mind himself. Each day, he seemed to take better care of his appearance and cleanliness. Color had returned to his skin.

 

He was starting to give a crap about living again.

 

She sighed and flicked to another video, one from the other day. Even though she knew he couldn’t see her, he’d pulled the plastic chair off to the side and plopped it right in the middle of the room.

 

He stared straight ahead directly in her line of sight, and Bulma had tried to shake off the feeling that he _knew_ she was right in front him. He had a habit of tapping his healthy fingers against his arm while they were crossed, which Bulma had dismissed as an impatient gesture, a way to count the time while questions were barked at him.

 

But after what seemed like the millionth time Bulma watched the video — grunt once for yes, eye shift for _no,_ Bulma thought caustically — Bulma noticed that his fingers were bouncing in a similar _pattern…_ over and over.

 

Bulma jerked as it dawned on her.

 

Meet. Me.

 

9\. PM.

 

Alone.

 

Bulma rewound the footage and looked at his hands again. While her heart thudded in her ears, she found the footage from the previous day. Same crossed arms—

 

—same tapping.

 

Then the day before. And before that.

 

Bulma flicked a look at the _Piaget_ on her left wrist. It was already 9:12 pm. She looked around wildly. All right, okay, it’s about that time, she could probably make it—

 

She was about to fly out her bedroom door when she stopped herself.

 

What the hell was she doing?

 

This was so blatantly a trap it wasn’t even funny.

 

She cursed herself and decided it was time for an early bed.

 

.

.

.

 

He was doing it again.

 

The tapping. Same pattern while he remained stone-faced and otherwise silent. Her father didn’t seem to notice. He simply continued the same row of questions:

 

“What is your real name?”

 

Silence. Tap tap tap.

 

“What is the nature of your relationship with Kakarrot Korzen?”

 

Silence.

 

“What is the nature of your relationship with Frieza Kold?”

 

Tap tap tap. Tap taaaaap tap tap taaaap.

 

“ _Oh, fuck you!_ ” Bulma burst out, at her wit’s end. Her father jumped at her exclamation, shocked. She wished suddenly that he could see her throwing her middle fingers up to the wall. His lips twitched, and Bulma realized as anger surged through her that he was trying to hide a _smirk_.

 

He was _purposely_ trying to rile her up!

 

“Bulma! Patience!”

 

She reached over and abruptly cut off the microphone, before whirling back to her father.

 

“Dad, he’s not going to say anything! Why are we doing this, anyway? Shouldn’t Captain Kami or Sgt. Piccolo or whatever be doing this?”

 

“My dear, please be patient, there is a _purpose_ to—”

 

“Purpose?! All we’re doing is repeating the same questions over and over to—” she pressed the mic so the Prince could hear “— _this ungrateful shit—”_ she pressed it once more to cut the mic off once more. “—and it’s about as useful as shouting at a wall.”

 

Her father sighed heavily and removed his spectacles. “Dear. We’re on his side.”

 

“Are you kidding me right now, dad? We are absolutely not.”

 

“We _have_ to be to get him to work with us. That’s how this works, Bulma. He needs to understand we can be trusted.”  


 

“ _He_ needs to—?!” Bulma was beside herself in disbelief. “We’re wasting our time!”

 

“Bulma, if you’re unable to conduct yourself properly then perhaps I will consult you only when there’s a medical necessity.”

 

Bulma flushed, shocked. Was her dad… _reprimanding_ her?

 

“We’re done here,” he went on with a stern nod. He leaned over and brushed his hand over the microphone. “Have a good day, sir. We’ll continue tomorrow.”

 

“Dad!” Bulma gasped, shocked at her father’s reaction.

 

“Let’s go, dear,” her father said, his tone neutral, but there was a hint of disappointment in his gaze. It was unsettling — her father had never looked at her that way.

 

Too rattled to argue, Bulma followed her father silently out the room, ignoring how the Prince tilted his head curiously as they left.

 

.

.

.

 

Bulma stared at her bedroom ceiling, feeling rather unsettled. She knew her father was disappointed in her behavior, but couldn’t he see that the Prince was just _playing_ with them? Why did they have to be _nice_ to him? Yes, he had to co-operate with them, but that didn’t mean they had to be pals. She had no idea how all this repetition could help.

 

Dr. Briefs did explain over dinner why _they_ were handling the questions: they were neutral parties. Having Sgt. Piccolo or Captain Kami over right away when they were still trying to establish a semblance of trust wasn’t really smart.

 

Everything was meant to place the Prince in a false sense of security; enough for him to feel inclined to say something of note.

 

In short, they were supposed to be “Good Cop,” at least for a little while.

 

Still, Bulma felt uncomfortable and unsure. Something felt _off…_ she flicked glances at her watch as the evening wore on.

 

While she knew it was probably stupid, she found herself down the winding corridor leading the Prince’s clear cell just before 9 pm.

 

The lights were dim as it was already evening, but as she entered, they gradually grew brighter and brighter until the Prince’s room looked like it did during the day. She saw him wince and draw his hand over his eyes.

 

Bulma pressed the microphone button.

 

“This better be worth it,” she snapped.

 

He slowly sat up from the bed and ran his hand through his hair, angling a look toward her direction, though not quite directly at her.

 

“You should listen to your father.”

 

He hadn’t said a word the _entire_ time he’d been to Capsule Corp so it was startling to hear the gruff sentence. And of _all_ things!

 

“Excuse me?” Bulma exclaimed. He lifted a hand to silence her, gingerly getting off the bed to grab his blue plastic cup. It had only been six days, but he was at least able to get from Point A to Point B without almost collapsing now.

  
Almost leisurely he filled his blue cup and took his time downing the glass.

 

“Okay? You good now?” Bulma drawled, crossing her arms as she observed him fill his cup again.

 

“People don’t tell you ‘no’ often, do they?” he asked rhetorically, as he turned back around. He had his jumpsuit top off him and rolled down to his waist, so his entire sculpted chest was bare save for the bandages. She _had_ noticed it had been too tight for his chest and arms, perhaps even around his bindings, so she supposed in the evening he’d deemed to make himself more comforta—

 

— what the _hell_ was she doing ogling his torso?! She shook her head and scowled, focusing on him overall. He dragged that damn white plastic chair back to the center of the room and sat down, again taking his sweet time.

 

Bulma lifted a hand to her chest to somehow stem the beating of her heart. It was almost disconcerting to hear his voice again after days of straight silence. Not since that fateful meeting at Wukong had he spoken directly to her, when she thought it was the _last_ time she would see him.

 

“There’s no point. I’m always right,” Bulma said, deciding to humor the direction of this conversation.

 

His eyes narrowed infinitesimally. “I thought you were smart.”

 

Bulma reared back automatically, like he’d struck her. “ _Excuse_ me?”

 

“Only stupid people think they know everything.”

 

Bulma’s face heated. Was he calling her _stupid? How dare he!_

 

“I never said I knew _everything,_ you judgmental shit.”

 

“Right. But you think you know how to negotiate better than your father, the CEO of a successful multi-national organization, the richest man in Chikyuu?”

 

Bulma’s lips parted. “What?!”

 

“You should listen to your father,” he repeated, taking a swig of his water, calm and in control. “What he’s doing — it’s not wrong. I’m just better at this game than he is. Than you are, clearly.”

 

Out of all the things that she expected her secret meeting with the Prince was going to turn to, it wasn’t a _lecture_ to listen to her father’s advice and be censured! And Bulma _hated_ being told that she wasn’t good at anything — especially from a psycho like the one in front of her.

 

“You’re talking out of your ass.”

 

“You’re _here_.”

 

Bulma pressed her lips together at the way his brows rose to his hairline. Her fingers itched to punch that haughty expression off his face. She had nothing to say to that. She _did_ take his bait to meet him…

 

“You like games, don’t you?” It was a whisper, but perceptible. She knew he was purposely baiting her again, reminding her of the same question he asked of her at the docks. He had the same gleam in his eyes, wild, daring her to defy him.

 

 _Wanting_ her to defy him.

 

He was leaning forward in his seat now, his elbows on his knees.

 

“Don’t worry…” he practically purred, his voice low and rumbling. He couldn’t possibly see her, but he was looking forward so intently, it felt like the impenetrable wall between them was nonexistent.

 

Bulma felt the hair on her arms stand on end as she thought to herself, _You’re safe, girl, safe. He can’t escape. He can’t do a thing to you. Not a thing._

 

“… So do I,” he went on.

 

He tilted his head, flashing her a dangerous smile.

 

“So, let’s play.”

 

.

.

.

 

“Had a nice chat?”

 

Bulma paused to let her father’s question land for a moment before filling up her coffee cup. She had a hard time sleeping considering her evening activity, and while she had gone to see the Prince alone, security footage hadn’t been turned off. She knew all this. While she couldn’t resist the Prince’s bait, she wasn’t stupid enough to keep it _completely_ private.

 

“It was _a_ chat,” Bulma said finally, sitting beside her dad.

 

He took a sip of his own coffee. “Seems he’s now ready to exchange information as long as we give him what he asks.”

 

The previous night was… well, _surreal_ was one word for it.

 

He had _one_ request.

 

“He’s a strange boy.”

 

Bulma almost laughed out loud at how her father described him. “Strange” was definitely an understatement, and “boy” was so far from who he was. She suspected they were at _least_ the same age; the Prince looked to be in his thirties. But then again, her dad always looked at anyone in her generation or younger as children.

 

“You _think?_ ” Bulma drawled. She looked down at her coffee and back up at her dad. “It seems reasonable. What he asked for. But I feel like he’s leading us into a trap.”

 

“He’s testing us, absolutely,” Dr. Briefs acknowledged, confirming Bulma’s suspicions. “Why do you think he specifically asked for that album?”

 

“ _You Can’t Always Get What You Want_ ,” Bulma guessed in a sing-song manner, a little off-tune. “He’s trying to be funny.”

 

Dr. Briefs’ bark of laughter showed, to Bulma’s annoyance, that the Prince succeeded. Of all _threats_ and various things that Bulma expected from the Prince during their “secret” rendezvous, requesting The Rolling Stones’ _Let it Bleed_ album to fill the silence was not even in her radar.

 

Bulma remembered waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to follow it up with some death threat or psychobabble — an insult, _something!_ But he’d simply leaned back against the chair, looking self-satisfied.

 

He was playing a game with her, she knew, but was unsure exactly _what._ How could she play if she wasn’t even sure the point? More importantly, how could she _win?_

 

“Well, I see no harm in indulging the boy, even if it’s a silly request. Perhaps he simply wants to see if we’ll acknowledge it at all,” Dr. Briefs said with a shrug. “Perhaps there’s a message. Perhaps it’s all meaningless. Regardless, this _is_ progress.”

 

“I feel like he’s toying with us, dad. With _me.”_

 

“Undoubtedly.”

 

“We have no choice but to just give him what he wants for now, right?” Bulma sighed.

 

“For now.”

 

.

.

.

 

Bulma came by the next evening, promptly at 9pm. He was waiting for her, already seated in the white plastic chair. She was a little annoyed that he’d accurately guessed her arrival. She hadn’t indicated anything during the day, where he, like all other days, had been silent during question period.

 

In fact, before they were even finished asking their questions, he pressed play in his shiny new music player — predictably _You Can’t Always Get What You Want_ — and then walked back to his bed, indicating _he_ was done with their inquiries.

 

“I need a shave,” he said when he heard the “on” beep from her microphone. He rubbed his shadowed chin meditatively. “I needed a shave a couple days ago.”

 

“You didn’t give us anything back when we gave you the music you asked for,” Bulma pointed out tensely.

 

“ _That_ was between you and me,” he said.

 

Bulma felt a headache coming on. “First of all, there is no ‘you and me’ and next, you’re definitely dreaming if you think we’re going to give you a razor.”

 

“I’m not asking for a razor. I’m asking for a _shave,_ ” he drawled. He leaned forward. “From you.”

 

“You are _delusional_ ,” Bulma spat. “I’m not—”

 

“I’ll give you a date and time.”

 

“The fucking _hell_ you will! I’m not your goddamn personal groomer or _anything else_ for that matter!” Bulma exclaimed. “I’m not here to take _appointments._ ”

 

He continued to rub his jaw. “I’m not talking about a date and time for the shave, woman. But we can talk about that, too.”

 

Bulma fell silent as his implication rang clear. Her heart sped up, wondering if this was _it…_ was he teasing her? Did he actually plan to _share_ something of use? Something about Frieza?

 

“How do I know this is worth my while?” Bulma hedged suspiciously.

 

“You have to trust me,” he said evenly. He tilted his head and rubbed both cheeks. “Do you know how to work a straight razor?”

 

“Go fuck yourself. What date and time are you talking about and what is it for?”

 

“We have to trust _each other_ ,” he said. “You give me something, I give you something. That’s how this works.”

 

“I gave you your fucking album!”

 

“And I told you something about a date and time,” he said, leaning back on his chair and crossing his arms. He shrugged, his eyes narrowed. “Now I’m asking for a shave.”

 

Bulma grit her teeth. “Okay, _fine,_ I—”

 

“You can’t sedate or otherwise drug me,” he interrupted. “Or tie me up. Or have some giant shadow you. No weapons. Just you, me, a razor and shaving cream.”

 

Bulma pressed her lips together. “No deal.”

 

“All right,” he said easily. “This conversation is over.”

 

As if to punctuate his point, he stood up.

 

“You can’t keep quiet forever! We’re being _kind_ to you! Especially considering what you did to _me_ , you’re lucky your entrails aren’t covering the walls,” Bulma snarled, smacking the almost transparent barrier between them. “When Kami and Piccolo get here, they’re not going to be _quite_ as nice.”

 

“Mm, you know as well as I do that torture methods are ineffective for any useful information. And your father is nothing but practical, is he not?” he said softly. “That’s why he’s allowing _this entire exchange_ to even occur. He knows what I want and frankly, I’m willing to pay the price.”

 

He paused to salute the air, as if waving to Dr. Briefs. Even if her father wasn’t watching the live feed, the recording would make it look like he was directly acknowledging him.

 

Bulma frowned fiercely, unsure where he was going with this and the underlying message. What in the world did he _want?_

 

“But in the meantime, I’d like a shave. And if that’s not in the cards, then you and I have nothing more to talk about,” he said. He began to make his bed for the night.

 

Bulma scrambled for compromise.

 

“I’ll have one of the orderlies—” Bulma began.

 

He paused his movements and looked askance.

 

“I want you.”

 

Bulma swallowed, heat suffusing her face. The _way_ he said that…

 

“Not going to happen,” she snapped. And she meant that as an answer to _whatever_ way his statement could be interpreted.

 

“Good night, woman,” he said, amusement tinging the edges of his words.

 

Realizing he was truly heading to bed as he began to strip out of his jumpsuit, Bulma muted their communication and flew out of the room before she saw more of his rippling backside.

 

.

.

.

 

He was sitting expectantly in that white plastic chair, already with the towel around his neck. His chest was bare, the top of his jump suit rolled down to this waist.

 

“Smart after all,” he murmured as she approached him holding a straight razor in one hand.

 

Bulma wasn’t quite sure of his statement as her heart was hammering so hard against her chest, she could scarcely breathe. She _had_ to do this. He had information about Frieza and she had gone this far; there was no turning back.

 

She reminded herself that she had security all around her, and one sign of distress and the room would shut down, go into emergency mode. He would get a dart and be instantly tranquilized.

 

“I’ve never done this,” she said and hated how shaky her voice was.

 

“You’re a fast learner,” he returned, his dark eyes following her as she rounded on him.

 

And suddenly, his hand was on her wrist, paralyzing her with fear, the razor falling from her grip into a useless clatter on the floor.

 

Oh my god, this was _it_ , she was _so so stupid_ , she was going to—

 

— then warm lips were on her erratic pulse, lingering, before trailing up her forearm.

 

What?

  
What was happening? Bulma thought dazedly.

 

She felt a tug on the same arm, and she was suddenly propelled forward. The surprise momentum caused her to stumble, and suddenly she was straddling him on his lap, her face mere inches from his.

 

“You give me something, _I_ give you something,” he rasped against her neck, the low register of his voice causing delicious chills to run down her length. Her lashes fluttered against her cheeks as she leaned into him, pressing her breasts against the broad expanse of his chest.

 

“Never,” she challenged breathily.

 

His hands gripped her hips and pulled her more solidly against his unyielding length.

 

“That wasn’t a request,” he rumbled, his breath ghosting against hers just before their lips—

 

— Bulma gasped, clutching at her bed sheets, staring wildly up into the darkness of her bedroom ceiling. She felt flushed and flustered, utterly shocked at the turn her mind had taken. Bulma turned her heated face into her pillow and groaned, her hands shaking as she clawed at her sheets.

 

This was wrong… so _wrong_. Why the hell was she having _that_ kind of dream with… with that _monster?_

 

No.

 

 _No_.

 

Not good.

 

.

.

.

 

Her father suggested they give him a disposable razor and a plastic squeeze bottle of shaving cream.

 

While there _were_ blades there, it would take a lot of effort to do much damage and at some point, they had to treat him like a normal adult. Bulma was _glad_ she didn’t have to argue with her father who agreed that the Prince’s request for _her_ to personally groom him was _highly_ inappropriate.

 

But her father still wanted to humor the Prince, since it sounded like a genuine request. The disposable razor and shaving cream would suffice. They had to trust him _enough_ to not try to slash himself to shave. A trained orderly — really, their security personnel with medical training — would gather the supplies once he was finished so he wouldn’t be _left_ with the disposable razor for long.

 

When they came by that afternoon, the Prince was halfway through shaving. Bulma was still very _very_ unsettled about her inappropriate dream and not for the first time, wondered if she should recuse herself from this entire ordeal. Seeing him with the towel around his neck and his jumpsuit top around his waist was just channeling all the _wrong_ vibes to Bulma.

 

God, why was a man grooming himself sexy?! It was all those twisted shaving commercials growing up! It would mess up any woman!

 

“Hello, young man! I see you received your supplies,” Dr. Briefs said through the microphone. The Prince paused long enough for them to know he’d heard before he continued onward.

 

Predictably, he was silent and took his time finishing his job and washing his face.

 

“After shave?” he asked after he patted his cheeks with the towel, and turned back around. Bulma swallowed and averted her eyes. It was _unfair_ how good looking he was, especially clean-shaven with his bruises fading quickly now that he was amenable to treatment.

 

“Oh, sorry son, why didn’t I think of that? I’ll get some for you right away,” Dr. Briefs said cheerfully.

 

“It wasn’t exactly what I asked for,” the Prince said, as he ran his hand through his flame of hair. His expression was wry as he stared ahead, again like he knew where _she_ was standing. “So you get a half-assed answer. Wednesday, next week. A shipment.”

 

“A shipment for what?” Bulma broke in, her eyes widening that _something_ beyond inanity escaped through his lips. Her father seemed to come to life at this information, his hands flying over his tablet to quickly type a missive.

 

Meanwhile, Bulma watched as the Prince’s eyes narrowed at her question.

 

He turned and made a beeline to his music player and pressed play:

 

_You can’t always get what you want_

 

_You can’t always get what you want_

 

_You can’t always get what you want…_

 

_._

_._

_._


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of plot, a little bit of fluff.

“Pencils down.”

 

Goku bit his lip and leaned back against the chair after Captain Kami’s quiet directive. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked up worriedly. It was all the more disconcerting since Sgt. Piccolo was leaning forward expectantly, while Dr. Briefs and Dr. Korin stood off to the side with their clipboards and a timer.

 

While he still didn’t have much memory of his personal life, it looked like the SenzuB therapy was unlocking parts of his brain that had been dormant. It had only been a week of taking one pill at breakfast and at dinner, and he felt more energized than he’d ever been.

 

This was probably the most nerve-wracking test he’d ever taken. Even without memories of school, he was sure he didn’t have a group of people all hedging their futures on what he knew or watching him intently _while_ he did the test.

 

“How did that feel, Kakarrot, m’boy?” Dr. Briefs asked.

 

“Weird,” he said honestly. “If I had a chance to study, I think I would have gotten more answers.”

 

They’d given him his police academy graduation test since it was clear that his police training had already broken through the surface with his knowledge of weapons and fighting. The next leap was to figure out after a week of therapy if _more_ knowledge could be teased out… and what type.

 

“But you understood the questions,” Sgt. Piccolo asked, crossing his arms. He sounded skeptical.

 

Goku shrugged self-consciously. “Most of them. I don’t know.”

 

“Are you up for another test?” Dr. Korin asked while Captain Kami sat down to mark Goku’s test. “A more _practical_ one?”

 

Goku sighed. Did he have a choice?

 

“Sure. Why not?”

 

Sgt. Piccolo leaned forward and removed the gun from his holster. He checked it and removed the bullets to place into his pocket, then handed it over to Goku.

 

“All right, child,” Dr. Briefs said as Dr. Korin braced himself to start the timer. “Disassemble the gun, and then reassemble. Go!”

 

Goku’s fingers flew.

 

.

.

.

 

“Stop crying, you idiot,” a gruff voice said, but it didn’t sound _that_ angry. More worried. “It’s just a small scrape.”

 

“B-but it hurts,” Goku said.

 

He paused. He sounded young.

 

 _Really_ young. He looked around, confused. He was at a playground of sorts…

 

“You’re a Saiyan. Saiyans don’t cry, okay? Come on, you’re fine,” the voice went on and Goku focused as hard as he could. Dark eyes materialized, followed by a face… a face that looked a _lot_ like his but not quite. He had wild, long hair, barely contained in a pony-tail.

 

He was a boy that looked to be about twelve, maybe thirteen years old, but that seemed ancient to his… five-year-old self? He looked down at his chubby hands. About that. He looked to be that young.

 

“Saiyans don’t cry,” Goku echoed brokenly, sucking in giant breaths, nodding as he tried to keep it together.

 

“You shouldn’t let that girl bully you,” the boy in the pony tail said. “You need to stand up to her.”

 

Goku gasped. “But she’s a… a… _special_ girl…”

 

The boy barked out a laugh. “Kid, she’s not _that_ type of special. I think her dad makes her wear that helmet because she’s a little rough.” There was a pause. “She probably has a little crush on you, that’s why she’s bothering you all the time. But you gotta tell her it ain’t cool to push like that, okay?”

 

“C-can _you_ tell her, Raditz?”

 

“Have you seen her monster of a dad? I’d be flattened in two seconds. You gotta learn how to take care of yourself, kid. Or at least learn to _share_ — you guys can _both_ fit on that cloud thing! I’m not going to be around you forever.”

 

Fresh tears welled up. “Wh-where are you going to _go?”_

 

“Idiot. I’m not going anywhere _now_. I can’t be around all the time is all. Now stop blubbering, you’re embarrassing me.”

 

Goku wiped his eyes with his tiny fists. “O-okay. I love you, Raditz.”

 

“Stop it, kid,” the boy told him, but hugged him all the same.

 

Then Goku woke up.

 

.

.

.

 

Was the older boy in that memory his brother? Goku wondered the next day. He’d called him Raditz… He thought back merely a week ago about how Captain Kami emphasized that Frieza was responsible for a lot of pain toward his father and brother, and thus himself.

 

Was Raditz still alive?

 

“What happens if I don’t remember anything important?” Goku asked, vocalizing what he knew everyone was thinking about this entire exercise.

 

Currently, he was working through piles of notes in the conference room-turned-evidence-hold at Capsule Corp and he was trying to find a way to bring up the memory naturally.

 

He wasn’t due for his check-up with Dr. Korin and Dr. Briefs until later in the day so he hadn’t had a chance to explain that he’d had a small breakthrough in his memory yet.

 

Piccolo sighed and looked down at the boxes of evidence he’d brought over from the precinct. “Then we’re back at square one. But we have at least one more set of eyes. We go back to basics. There’s still all this.”

 

Piccolo waved around them, at the piles of boxes. Goku was told it was at least a year and a half’s worth of work, evidence, and information. It was rather intimidating to look at, and he goggled at the timeline — he’d been undercover _that_ long?

 

“You were a cop — _are_ one, especially since you passed that goddamn exam.” Piccolo shook his head. “How the hell is it possible that you could even get 75% of the answers right and the academy was almost a decade ago!? I still have all _my_ brain cells and I really fucking doubt I’d get that much right.”

 

“Has _procedure_ ever been your strength?” Goku returned with amusement. Piccolo’s reaction was unexpected as his brows rose to his nonexistent hairline.

 

“You almost sound like your old self,” he said. “I hope that means we’ll get some of the old Kakarrot back.”

 

Goku was starting to get a little tired of all Kakarrot references. All week, he received hints from everyone that they all preferred _Kakarrot_ — not only because of his previous knowledge, but because of who he used to be. How he he used to behave. It was a weird being told straight to his face, in not so many words, that they preferred someone else.

 

It was pretty darn silly to him — he was the _same_ person.

 

Technically.

 

“Do you know anything about a Raditz?” Goku blurted out after he found that there wasn’t really a _smooth_ way to bring it up.

 

“What about your brother?” Piccolo asked, his attention focused on the folder in his hands.

 

“So, that _was_ my brother,” Goku murmured, his heart clenching. It was real. He had _remembered_ something.

 

Piccolo’s head jerked up. “You remembered something about Raditz?”

 

Goku shrugged. “I guess so. He… we were little. Kids. That’s about it.”

 

“Well, shit,” Piccolo said, but his face was breaking out into a smile. “Motherfucking Dr. Briefs. The wizard of West City.”

 

That sounded like an insult, but not. Piccolo was so confusing at the _best_ of times.

 

“Huh?”

 

“I mean… it’s _working_. Dr. Briefs is a wizard. I honestly thought it was a bunch of _horseshit_ ,” Piccolo said with a laugh. “The entire memory recall thing. I mean, even with the police academy weirdness, it was still a long shot, right? For you to know more than that?”

 

Goku rubbed the back of his neck. “I just remembered something when I was a _kid_. That’s why I asked what would happen if I don’t remember anything important.”

 

“Well, who knows,” Piccolo said evenly, like a man used to disappointment. “Life goes on and so do we.”

 

“So… Raditz… is he… still…?” Goku prodded quietly. Piccolo sighed and rubbed his brow.

 

“He’s alive,” Piccolo said, causing Goku to grin widely in relief, but Piccolo’s next words dashed it away:

 

“He’s holed up in max.”

 

Goku’s heart dropped to his stomach. _Prison?_

 

.

.

.

 

Predictably, Dr. Korin and Dr. Briefs were ecstatic when he shared the news about his memory. Yes, it was the first time he had a vision like this. No, it wasn’t a _fantasy_ , he was very sure it was a memory. And no, this was the first time he heard of the word “Raditz” in five years, and no, he didn’t hear it from Cpt. Kami or Sgt. Piccolo.

 

The majority of questions they asked were to verify that it _was_ a memory indeed and tied to the SenzuB therapy. Still, it was early so they were optimistic but told him to just continue taking the same dosage for another week to see what happens before they ramped the amount up.

 

It was good news, but just like the rollercoaster of a week this was, it came with the major caveat of finding out his brother was in _prison_. He’d been part of Saiyan group that the Prince led and was the only one known alive. There’d been one more member of the Saiyan group, a big, burly, mustachioed man named Nappa Kapusta, but he died under mysterious circumstances.

 

Goku learned that due to a sting that _he_ had set up, Raditz had been arrested.

 

Goku had betrayed his own brother.

 

Or, was it the other way around?

 

How did things go so wrong for his family?

 

It was draining to contemplate. His brother _deserved_ to be in jail for all his crimes, but it was another emotional level to contemplate that part of his undercover work led to his current situation. Piccolo said that meeting Raditz would be inevitable, once they had a better sense of the current situation and reviewed all the evidence thoroughly.

 

It was because of the day’s drama that Goku was looking even _more_ forward to Chi-Chi and Gohan’s visit later that evening.

 

She promised to visit at least once a week with their son while he was at Capsule Corporation.

 

That was the _plan_ _for now_ _…_ the fact that the Prince had perished was enough to cause ripples throughout the entire underworld and _all_ of them were meant to stay head down. Chi-Chi had to go back to her normal routine, her home, as if nothing were amiss. Visiting Capsule Corp once a week wouldn’t be considered odd due to the nature of Chi-Chi and Gohan’s relationship with the Briefs.

 

He worried endlessly about their safety, but Sgt. Piccolo said that he _personally_ made sure of Chi-Chi and Gohan’s security. She was staying with her father, who was still in the dark about everything, but no one would find that really odd. She stayed often enough at her father’s apartment. She apparently even took a couple short shifts at the ER — her co-worker, Lazuli (who Goku recognized as the woman Krillin had mentioned) also agreed to keep her eyes and ears open as a contact within Wukong.

 

And so far, nothing of note.

 

Goku had been upgraded to a regular room; or as “regular” a room was in Capsule Corporation. It reminded him of Krillin’s massive apartment, but _more_ luxurious. A self-contained apartment… Dr. Briefs explained that sometimes employees needed accommodations when they had to work through an especially tough and sensitive project and couldn’t leave the premises.

 

Which, technically, was Goku’s reality at the moment.

 

But, it was a level of pseudo-normalcy that Goku welcomed. It felt like his own _space_ at least, and there was even a tiny living room with a flat-screen TV and a nice comfy couch. Panchy — or Mrs. B as Chi-Chi called her — had even been so kind to bring up some of Bulma’s old toys and board games, along with high-tech some prototypes (safe! she assured him) of upcoming toys from Capsule Corporation’s retail division.

 

He was rifling through the games, wondering what a four-year-old would like to play with, when he heard a knock by the wall. He lifted his head and saw Chi-Chi looking around his suite curiously, while holding a plastic bag in one hand, and what looked to be a giant tome on the other.

 

“Hi, Goku. Mrs. B. let me in,” Chi-Chi said as she continued to eye the space.

 

“Daddy!” Gohan exclaimed. Goku’s eyes dropped to see his son running toward him.

 

“Gohan, what did I say?!” Chi-Chi broke in sharply, causing their son to skid slightly and slow his steps. It was such a comical sight. Goku felt his heart warm. Already, he was feeling a million times better…

 

“Sorry, I’m careful, I’m careful,” Gohan mumbled. Goku laughed lightly as he welcomed his son’s tentative hug. He dragged him to his lap on the floor and squeezed him, causing the boy to giggle.

 

“Don’t worry, I’m feeling a little better,” Goku said affectionately. “Just don’t poke me on the sides.”

 

“You look good,” Chi-Chi remarked before her cheeks turned pink. “Um, I mean… you look _well_...”

 

She looked away and hastily dropped the plastic bag onto the ground but Goku thought she muttered under her breath, “I am stuck in a time loop…”

 

Odd.

 

She rifled through the plastic bag and he was surprised to see her pull out a couple cans of beer. She handed him one while she handed Gohan a juice box.

 

“I got you your usual,” she said, handing him a can.

 

Goku looked down at the European beer in his hand. _Zywiec_? He’d never had this in his life — at least, as far as he could remember — but he nodded at her anyway. It was a sweet gesture.

 

“ _And_ , I thought maybe we could go through this tonight!” Chi-Chi declared, brandishing the tome in her hands. Goku realized was a giant baby book.

 

“That’s amazing,” Goku said, genuinely excited.

 

All three of them sat on the couch, with Gohan on his lap. Chi-Chi tucked her leg under her bum, making herself comfortable on the couch as she opened the album. She was a little far away, so Goku moved a little closer until her knee touched his and she could place the album on all of them.

 

She looked at him a little startled, but quickly shook her head, before putting her attention back on the book.

 

“That’s me,” Gohan said, pointing to the first page, which was a photo of him as a baby.

 

“Yes, baby,” Chi-Chi said.

 

“I’m not a baby any more, though,” Gohan said so seriously that Goku couldn’t help but smile and stroke his son’s hair. Was it possible to love someone this deeply, this quickly? All Goku knew was that his son was perfect.

 

“Okay, so I have a ton more of this, but I thought we’d get started at the beginning, right? When he was born,” Chi-Chi explained. She turned a page and seemed startled, before she decidedly skipped at least ten pages.

 

“Hey, what’s that about?” Goku protested, as Chi-Chi skipped forward. Her face was red.

 

“Sorry, it’s been a while since I pulled this out and I forgot I… um, I had my _pregnancy_ photos in this one, too,” Chi-Chi said. “You don’t want to see that.”

 

Goku furrowed his brows. “Why not?”

 

“I look like a beached whale, honestly,” Chi-Chi said dismissively, trying to find a specific page to start as she’d jumped quite ahead now with Gohan in newborn clothes.

 

“You said the beginning,” Goku said, hoping his voice was only _slightly_ reproachful. “Gohan, don’t you want to see your mama when she was growing you in her belly?

 

“Yeah!” Gohan said enthusiastically. Goku placed his palm over Chi-Chi’s and gently guided her back to the start.

 

“Fine, fine, outvoted,” Chi-Chi said with a resigned sigh, pulling her fingers away from his jerkily. She tucked them underneath her legs, so Goku supposed she wanted him to turn the pages. As he did so, Chi-Chi began to narrate.

 

“Okay, so here I don’t look so bad,” she said, pointing with her chin. In the photo, she is holding up a number “4” placard over her belly. She barely showed, though she was pulling her sweater back and cupping her stomach. “I’m only about four months.”

 

“Mama pretty,” Gohan said sweetly. Goku hummed his agreement. Chi-Chi rolled her eyes at him, clearly not agreeing, then gave her boy an air kiss.

 

Goku continued to flip as photos of Chi-Chi in various states of dress and belly cupping, alongside numbered placards by her belly. Most of them were alone, but a couple were with Bulma, another with who he recognized as her father from the police files he’d looked at.

 

He paused when he saw a strange man, about their age, enter in a couple of the shots especially as she’d grown larger. He had a tell-tale scar down his cheek, but seemed like a goofball, judging from his pose. His head was tilted and close to her belly, while he brandished a thumbs-up sign.

 

“Is that your boyfriend?” Goku asked.

 

Chi-Chi gasped while Gohan began to laugh.

 

“ _Si_ _lly_ , mama has no _boyfriend_ ,” Gohan exclaimed, sounding like it was the most absurd thing ever. Goku was a little surprised at how the tenseness in his gut seemed to ease at his son’s statement. He hadn’t even realized he’d tensed. Chi-Chi waved a hand in the air, looking flustered.

 

“No, no, that’s… god, dating while _pregnant?”_ Chi-Chi shook her head, looking more than a little embarrassed. “No, that’s _Bulma’s_ boyfriend. Uh, _ex-_ boyfriend. Yamcha. We’re all still friends. He’s a good friend.”

 

Goku nodded as he flipped through. He watched as Chi-Chi grew swollen with their child, but Goku thought she looked just as beautiful as she did at the start of the album. She seemed _so_ happy… flush with anticipation, like she couldn’t _wait_ to be a mother. Though, something about her chubbier cheeks made Goku pause, a thought just teasing his consciousness.

 

For some reason, he thought of cookies.

 

Strange.

 

He flipped and there was a photo of Chi-Chi in the hospital with Bulma Briefs, looking _so_ young and _so_ informal in a t-shirt and jeans — he’d only seen her a few times when she’d come to check on him, but she always seemed angry and severe, her expression pinched. He had more than a small suspicion that the woman actively _disliked_ him and he wasn’t sure why.

 

Here, in these pics with Chi-Chi, Bulma looked relaxed and the difference was startling.

 

Chi-Chi, however, looked a little stressed, though she was still smiling.

 

Goku continued to flip and abruptly, Chi-Chi covered a page with her palm. “Ugh, don’t look.”

 

“What’s wrong?” Goku asked.

 

“I was crying so hard after Gohan was born, I look awful. I don’t know why I kept these pics,” Chi-Chi said. Goku eyed her doubtfully. He was starting to realize that Chi-Chi had no idea how striking she actually was and was strangely self-conscious. It baffled him, frankly. He’d met many a woman of varying levels of self-confidence, but Chi-Chi was so _objectively_ lovely, that it was a genuine wonder that she couldn’t see it.

 

Indeed, Chi-Chi was crying openly in these shots, but newborn Gohan was in these shots, pink and wailing, as well. A few of the shots also had an openly sobbing Bulma Briefs, too.

 

“Everyone’s crying,” Gohan said with a snort-laugh. He pointed at the bundle. “That’s me.”

 

“I see that,” Goku said softly, feeling his heart lurch. He’d missed all this. He missed his own child’s birth. He missed _four years_ of his life…! And Chi-Chi had to deal with it _alone_.

 

Goku felt his throat close up with unexpected emotion. Guilt coursed through him. He knew that his current circumstance was out of his control, but he couldn’t help but think he failed his son, failed his family…

 

Was Chi-Chi a part of his family?

 

Chi-Chi had said strange things about how they hadn’t been technically together in the past.

 

He felt too awkward to bring up the nature of their past relationship since it was _still_ a weird concept for him to wrap his mind around being… _intimate_ like that with a person. Even with his vague dreams of her and the _proof_ of their liaison in his arms.

 

Chi-Chi confused him because she felt altogether familiar and foreign.

 

He wondered how they ended. Amicably? He thought maybe they did, since she was so sweet and kind to him. If they had ended things poorly, he couldn’t imagine her being this nice, and so open to share Gohan. But, he had no idea what romantic relationships were like — all he had experience with was friendships.

 

So he wasn’t sure if her warmth was due to her nature… or perhaps she still had lingering feelings for him? The thought was… not unpleasant but it terrified him a little. He had no idea what to do with that information.

 

She gave him looks that he couldn’t quite decipher. The day she called him Goku for the first time, when she told him he could see their son… her eyes had shone with such intensity, so serious and sad. It felt like she didn’t want to look at him at all, but if she looked away, she would shatter.

 

Goku had instinctively wanted to comfort her.

 

He was so confused. All he knew for certain was that she’d given him a lovely son and it made his heart swell. He enjoyed her company.

  
He hoped they could be friends. Close friends?

 

“Can you believe he was a little early? About two weeks,” Chi-Chi said softly, oblivious to his musings, as she flipped another page to where Gohan was already swaddled and labeled in his hospital crib. “He was 7 lbs 9 oz.”

 

She leaned closer, one arm pressed against his as the other reached over to turn a page. She was so close, he could smell the clean scent of her soap and again, that hint of spice. She was so engrossed with looking at the photos that any stiffness she’d had around him seemed to have melted.

 

Close friends cuddled sometimes, right? he wondered. A few women on the island had saddled up to him like this during cool evenings. But he never felt the urge to wrap his arm around them like he did right now, to press closer still. To bury his nose in her hair and stroke the smooth angle of her neck.

 

She had such lovely skin…

 

“Look how small your hands and feet were,” Chi-Chi said as she turned the page where Gohan’s imprints were. His son wriggled in his arms to try to stomp his foot over the page, startling Goku out of his reverie.

 

“Gohan, _enough_ , behave,” Chi-Chi said, again in that stern voice of hers, causing their son to cringe slightly. “Do you want me to send you to time out?”

 

“Here, let’s just compare handprints,” Goku said, trying to re-arrange the book more comfortably and to prevent a tantrum. He placed his hand beside Gohan’s tiny handprint and he felt his heart jump when Gohan first placed his palm over his baby print, and then over his hand.

 

“Daddy, your hand is so big,” Gohan exclaimed. “Mama, look.”

 

Chi-Chi smiled. “I see that.”

 

Gohan then held his free hand up, prompting Chi-Chi to spread her palms.

 

“Mama’s hand is not as big,” Gohan said as he glanced down at his palm below and then back up at the palm over his mother’s.

 

Abruptly, Gohan grasped his hand and before Goku knew what he was doing, Gohan did the same with Chi-Chi’s. Gohan quickly drew their palms together and startled, Goku met Chi-Chi’s own gaze. He felt heat rise to his cheeks as they regarded each other, similarly wide-eyed.

 

“Mama’s hand is small. You have monster hands, daddy,” Gohan said as he pressed Chi-Chi’s palm against his. Her hand felt so soft, so warm….

 

“G-Gohan,” Chi-Chi stammered as she pulled her hand away quickly. Not only was her face red, her neck and ears were now, too, Goku observed. He swallowed, as he touched his cheek gingerly. He felt a little warm as well. He hadn’t even opened the can of beer yet…

 

“You know, I… um… I have to go talk to Bulma. I think you two will be fine alone for a while?” Chi-Chi stood abruptly, not allowing Goku to have a chance to respond except to blink at her and nod. She nodded rapidly, looking around the room like she’d lost something, but he suspected she was just trying not to look at _him_.

 

She seemed to almost trip over herself as she scrambled to leave the room, causing him to rise a little to help her out. She caught his movement clearly from her periphery because she waved him away and laughed nervously.

 

“All right, boys, have fun. I’ll see you later!”

 

Her tone was bright, but there was something tense behind her words. He watched in surprised silence as she disappeared.

 

“Mama’s funny sometimes,” Gohan said, matter-of-factly.

 

Indeed, Goku thought. He shook his head. That woman was a mystery. Still, this was some precious time with his son and he wanted to savor every moment.

 

“Why don’t you tell me about your week?” Goku prompted and Gohan was more than happy to oblige.

 

.

.

.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if I need to add a warning here, but this chapter goes through some tough mental illness issues. I'm no expert whatsoever and I truly hope I don't offend. Our characters are going through a bit of a tough time right now and I wanted to point out that mental illness isn't something that goes away with a few nice words; that it can swing and manifest itself without warning.
> 
> This Vegeta is dark for a reason.

Wednesday came and went, proving the Prince's tip to be legitimate.

 

Even with the little information he had given, it was enough for the WCPD to scour their sources and monitor _every_ port and suspected “areas of interest” that entire day. Nothing _happened_ per se: a shipment occurred — a parcel of semi-automatic weapons — on the opposite end of the docks where the Prince staged their ordeal. The WCPD let it happen and simply noted it and any individuals involved. They weren’t going to set up an entire sting with what little resources they had with only a few days notice.

 

But the Prince made his point.

 

He knew what was going on at the Kold’s.

 

It was why she found herself walking to the Prince's cell right after breakfast the Thursday morning, the earliest she’d seen him. Normally, it was lunch hour or late at night. She felt antsy and wanted to demand answers; she wanted to ask why he gave up that information for a goddamn _mediocre_ shave.

 

He was already awake, and he was playing _Gimme Shelter_ from the album this time as he nursed a mug. There was a tray off to the side with his breakfast of some bread, fruit, cheese and sausage, which was untouched. But he had poured himself some coffee and was staring blankly into space.

 

He had no idea she’d come, of course, since his room was sound proofed and they had access to listen to him or not as they pleased.

 

Bulma wasn’t _quite_ sure why, but she didn’t make her presence known immediately, simply observing this odd man. It was different from looking through the security footage, which seemed abstract, almost. Watching him quietly now, up close, was a totally different experience.

 

She wondered what was going through his mind. While their prison was infinitely more comfortable than a “real” facility, she wondered if he was bored with little to do but listen to an album on repeat and stew on his situation.

 

She bit her lip, suddenly concerned. She knew what _she_ did when she was bored… as a genius, her mind hardly ever shut off. It buzzed constantly and she got into the most trouble when she was idle. She made a note in her phone to get him more albums to listen to, whether he liked them or not, and maybe some reading material.

 

He shifted on the bed and sighed, finally leaning over to the tray to poke at the food lackadaisically. His lips were dipped in a frown… the same one he had when she thought he was unconscious back at Wukong. Bulma’s skin prickled with worry.

 

Without warning, he tipped over the tray of food, then threw the mug against the wall, instantly shattering it. To her shock, she watched as he fell to his knees and screamed: a haunting, anguished sound.

 

All at once, alarms sounded and Bulma barely had a chance to react before she saw trained orderlies, security, burst through the entrance.

 

“What’s going on?! What’s happening?” Bulma exclaimed, confused and disoriented.

 

They seemed surprised to see her there and she was suddenly very aware that she was in her pajamas, just a tank top and short shorts. She’d gone straight from breakfast after all. But they paid her little heed because the Prince was now taking the tray he’d toppled over and was smashing it against the wall.

 

Bulma stared in mute, open-mouthed horror witnessing the sheer force of his anger. In their entire understanding of each other, he’d been the very veneer of calm and control. Was this what Kakarrot had seen? Why they both had been half dead only a mere week ago?

 

The orderlies burst through the prison entrance, their tranquilizer guns drawn. The Prince threw the tray in their direction and ducked when they shot at him.

  
Bulma screamed, startled at the sound.

 

He whipped his head around and their gazes met.

 

At least, she looked straight into _his_ eyes… he couldn’t see her, but he clearly heard her since the door was open. It was enough of a distraction for a one of their employees to trigger a dart against his neck.

 

He touched the dart just as the rest of the orderlies surrounded him.

 

Then his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

 

.

.

.

 

“What do you think triggered this episode?” her dad asked her quietly.

 

Bulma shook her head as she pressed her fingers against the Prince's wrist, counting the steady beat of his pulse. She was unsettled by that display but she was the only _real_ medical doctor on the premises right now and had to examine him.

 

“I don’t know, dad,” she said tiredly. She pulled out a small flashlight from the white coat she grabbed at the nearby CC clinic, and went to examine his eyes. He was well and truly _out_. He looked _so_ pale but his face was devoid of any expression. There was no medical necessity to do so, since she didn’t suspect fever, but she palmed his cheek anyway. He was cool to the touch…

 

“I came by to talk to him. I hadn’t even had the chance to let him know I was even here. He was sitting there one minute and then the next thing, he was _screaming_.”

 

She dropped her hand from his cheek.

 

“The coffee? Caffeine?” her father asked.

 

Bulma pressed her lips together as she lifted the Prince's limp hands, checking for cuts. He’d shattered the mug and she was concerned that there were shards somewhere.

 

“All he had was some shitty Folgers. This shouldn’t trigger a psychotic episode,” Bulma said, hating how her heart thudded with a strange mixture of fear and pity. “But… I don’t know. He looked depressed when I got here.”

 

Dr. Briefs nodded slowly. “He’s not a stable lad.”

 

Bulma laughed and she found it was watery. “You _think_ , dad?”

 

“Perhaps because of the information about yesterday?”

 

Bulma sighed, sitting on the bed. She felt antsy and needed something for hands to do, so she smoothed a wrinkle from the Prince's jumpsuit.

 

“Probably related. Don’t know why he’d be so upset. He volunteered that info. And barely any,” Bulma said, still smoothing that now non-existent wrinkle. She worried her lip. “I don’t think he’s safe alone. I think… maybe being here is making him go loopy. _More so_ , I mean.”

 

Dr. Briefs angled a look at his daughter as he rubbed his mustache. “What do you propose we do?”

 

Bulma shook her head. “I don’t know. I...”

 

She trailed off.

 

“He needs regular communication,” her father said as the silence continued.

 

“Books, maybe a TV,” she said with a nod. “More albums.”

 

“Supervised meals?”

 

Oh, he’d _love_ that, Bulma thought wryly. But her father gave her a sudden idea.

 

“ _I’ll_ eat with him,” she said. Her father looked at her askance for a moment before nodding.

 

“May be a good idea. He enjoys your company.”

 

Bulma frowned at her father’s statement. He shouldn’t _enjoy_ her company. She certainly didn’t.

 

“How transparent is this wall?” Bulma asked pointing to the mirrored wall. “Like can I make him see me so it feels like we’re eating together instead of a disembodied voice? He doesn’t _see_ anyone really except an orderly and his own reflection.”

 

Her father regarded her for a long moment. “How do you feel meeting with him in the same space?”

 

Bulma blinked. “What? You mean like _now?_ But when he’s fully awake?”

 

“He trusts you.” Then her father looked down pointedly.

 

She frowned and followed his gaze, and to her surprise, she saw that she’d rested her hand over the Prince's, her fingers twined against his. She jerked her hand up as if burned, her face flushing.

 

“I didn’t… His hand was just _there_...” she stammered.

 

“You’re an empath, my dear,” Dr. Briefs said. “There’s no shame wanting to ease someone’s pain, even if they may not be worthy. Was that not the reason you pursued medicine?”

 

Bulma crossed her arms, as if that would protect her from _accidentally touching_ unstable patients.

 

“We might have to give him anti-psychotics,” she said finally, choosing not to address the direction her father’s question.

 

“If you believe it will stabilize him,” her dad said with a nod.

 

“When he wakes up, I’m going to get him to tell me his full medical record. Maybe he already took meds for that, who knows,” she said, rubbing her brow. She lowered her hand and jerked it again when she realized she’d placed her hand over his _again!_

 

“The tranquilizer should lose its potency in a couple hours. Perhaps that should be the first meal you share? He ruined his breakfast,” Dr. Briefs said. Their cleaning crew did a great job. It was as if there was no evidence of his breakdown, and the wall he’d been smashing his tray against hadn’t a single scratch. He paused. “Perhaps it should be just the two of you? He may feel… less forthcoming with my presence as well.”

 

“Yeah, fine, dad,” she said with a sigh. If anything, the little display here actually made her confident in their security, since they were there almost _instantly_ when he had his episode and she’d been pretty defenseless in nothing but her sleeping clothes.

 

Her father reached into his pocket and handed a small pen.

 

“What’s this?” she asked, knowing it wasn’t actually a pen.

 

“This side tranquilizes. If it’s not enough, this other side releases 10,000 volts,” Dr. Briefs said calmly, pointing to the white side, and then the black side.

 

Bulma swallowed and tucked it into her white doctor’s coat.

 

What the hell had she gotten herself into?

 

.

.

.

 

He was sitting upright again, a hollow expression in his eyes as he stared at the wall.

 

Bulma’s lips dipped. Was this how he looked normally? When he wasn’t posturing for her father and herself?

 

She pressed the microphone. “Hey, asshole.”

 

Her words, however, didn’t have any heat.

 

He blinked and said nothing.

 

Dammit. Was he going to play the silent game again? They’d regressed an entire week.

 

What was going on in his head?

 

She looked at the sandwiches in her paper bag. It was a safe thing to eat, no utensils needed… her mom made her fave chicken salad with alfalfa sprouts.

 

She smoothed her hair as she walked to his cell entrance before catching herself. Why the hell did she care about how she looked to him? She sighed… this situation was fucking her up. She squared her shoulders and took a few deep breaths before she placed her palm in the scanner.

 

There was a whoosh and she stepped through his cell’s threshold.

 

The whoosh of the door closing was the only responding sound.

 

She was, however, satisfied at seeing a reaction _finally_ from his face. His wide eyes and parted lips were enough to tell her how _stunned_ he was to see her standing in front of him in her doctor’s coat. Underneath she was just in her t-shirt and jeans.

 

It was then she realized he actually hadn’t _seen_ her this entire time. When she’d taken care of his medical needs, he was heavily sedated. Meanwhile, she’d looked at him through the partition, the videos, _every single day_ since he came to Capsule Corp, that she’d forgotten he didn’t see anyone but his own reflection and the occasional orderly.

 

She lifted her chin and feigned nonchalance. She saw that damn white chair from her dreams, the one he always sat in during their nightly chats and purposefully dragged it to the edge of his bed. He flicked a glance in her direction before looking away.

 

“Hey,” she snapped, clapping in front of him to catch his attention, trying to dig into her annoyance to cover her deep discomfort about the entire situation.

 

“You’re not real,” he muttered, the last thing she expected him to say.

 

She gaped at him silently, her jaw loosening when she realized that he wasn’t _joking_. He had some sort of mental break earlier, _recognized_ it… and was still working through it. Her stomach tightened with anxiety and dammit, _pity_. She felt _bad_ for him.

 

She wasn’t a mental health professional, but she knew that he was _ill_ and that didn’t disappear over night. He was a real mess, and this behavior reminded her that a mere week ago, he was lying in his own filth. At Wukong, there was no mistake how he wanted her to end him. It made her blood run cold.

 

“I’m real, you fool,” she exclaimed, trying to push down her concern and go with her usual flippancy. “You need to tell me _right now_ if you had episodes like this before you got here. Did you take meds for them?”

 

He didn’t answer, stubbornly looking away.

 

After a moment’s frustrated contemplation, she left the chair and sat on the bed. He twitched slightly when the bed dipped naturally at her weight. Tentatively, very tentatively, she placed her hand over his, just like she accidentally did hours ago.

 

He looked down at her hand, confusion written all over his face.

 

It was so far from the confident manipulator from just a few days ago.

 

Will the real Prince please stand up?

 

She squeezed his hand.

 

Suddenly, he grasped her wrist and tugged her arm. She cried out as her body propelled forward. She couldn’t help but throw her arms over him to balance herself. Their gazes met and she saw that his eyes were unfocused… unsure. She flushed down to her neck… this was _too much like_ her dream—

 

—but she’d woken up before his mouth was on hers.

 

 _This_ Prince though was _real_ , as were the lips tugging against her own and the tongue that swept against hers when her lips parted in a surprised gasp. His lips were chapped but soft and Bulma was so dazed and disoriented by the sensual assault, she simply grasped at the lapel of his jumpsuit with her free hand while he guided the hand he held to the base of his skull. Her nails scraped against his scalp instead of pushing away.

 

Dear god, did she actually whimper and moan against his mouth?

 

But it was over as soon as it started. Bulma found herself being forcibly pulled away by heavy hands she recognized was an orderly while other looming figures held the Prince down. She shrieked when they carried her from the room.

 

She heard the sick thuds of fighting and incoherent yells before deafening silence.

 

.

.

.

 

“He didn’t understand you were real,” Dr. Briefs said.

 

“I know,” Bulma said as she stared at the Prince’s prone figure for the second time that day. This time, he had a new bruise across his jaw from when an orderly was rough with him. That being said, it apparently took the tranquilizer to take him down rather than the violence that preceded it.

 

“I’ll understand if you wish not to continue,” her father went on, his hands behind his back, but his voice was tense. “I did not expect him to assault you like—”

 

Bulma’s cheeks flared. “I… he wasn’t in his right mind.”

 

She didn’t know what to say. She certainly didn’t invite the kiss… his behavior was inexcusable. Still, she could still taste him, feel the pressure of his lips, and even now, her skin tingled.

 

God, she was fucked up, she thought with despair. She _liked_ the feel of his mouth, his breath mingling with hers. It was several levels of wrong.

 

“Maybe I need some space,” she said finally. “I think… I want to help, dad, but...”

 

“I understand, love,” Dr. Briefs said with a short nod. “I support whatever you decide.”

 

“Thanks, dad,” she said with a sigh. “I’m… I think maybe a few days. Call me if you really need me for something.”

 

Her father grasped her hand and squeezed it. “My love. I am so sorry.”

 

“Dad, it’s… it was just a kiss. It was handled,” she said with a tight smile. “I’m fine. We’re all fine.”

 

She was sure it will be fine, eventually.

 

.

.

.

 

Bulma read all she could about Stockholm syndrome because she was _sure_ that was what she was suffering from. She couldn’t stop thinking about the Prince even though she was far from Capsule Corporation now, situated in her luxury apartment and going about her day. But info on Stockholm was contradictory: the FBI didn’t even consider it a “real” thing though there were many arguments for it.

 

There had to be a way to _stop_ her traitorous thoughts. She couldn’t stop thinking about her dream, the way his voice rumbled, their evening chats… She thought about his breakdown and the strange sadness that radiated from him and found herself feeling _hurt_ on his behalf.

 

Which was madness. _Pure madness_.

 

She should hate him. She should be angry.

 

Instead, she kept replaying that kiss over and over in her mind and thought about how she’d like to feel his skin and muscles beneath her fingers. She even thought about her captivity, how they’d rolled around in the ground, fighting, how his tongue had lapped against her neck. She thought about the cheeky wink he sent her when she was rescued, and the scent of the cologne he wore at the time. He had none, of course, at the cell… but she’d breathed him in before they were pulled apart and found she enjoyed his scent.

 

It. Was. Wrong.

 

She had to get rid of these thoughts somehow.

 

That was how she found herself typing in Yamcha’s number on her smartphone.

 

.

.

.

 

Yamcha was comfortable, like a security blanket. They’d known each other for so long, since their teens. He was her first love — her first _everything_ actually — and while they both knew they were wrong for each other as _adults,_ that they had no future and their personalities clashed day-to-day, nostalgia and history was a heady thing.

 

So when she visited him in his apartment that night, she caught his mouth immediately. He kissed her back easily — everything was easy, safe, with Yamcha — but he pushed her back calmly after a few moments.

 

“So what happened now?” he asked, lifting a brow.

 

He genuinely wanted to know.

 

When he did this, Bulma sometimes wished they worked out. He knew her well and could read her accurately— plus, he was a genuinely good person… but he was also the least ambitious person she knew, while clearly she was opposite. Whenever they were exclusive and dated seriously, he would eventually get on her nerves and the worst parts of her would show; and she knew she brought out the same from him.

 

While he’d never stepped out on her, she could tell that he would get restless. Exclusivity never suited him, and even though she was probably the most confident woman in the world, it eroded her self esteem to notice his eye wandering.

 

Bulma dropped her arms from her ex-lover and stepped back. “Would you believe I was kidnapped?”

 

“What the _fuck?”_

 

“And I’ll take that as a yes,” she said, inclining her head.

 

“I need a drink,” he said immediately, his gaze sharpening over her. “You, too.”

 

They made their way to his kitchen, a modest space, where he poured them both a finger of whiskey. They cheers’d and both downed their glasses quickly.

 

“Are you _okay?”_ Yamcha asked after a moment of silence.

 

“Fine. I...” Suddenly, to her surprise, tears sprang to her eyes. Goddammit.

 

“Ah, B,” he sighed, moving forward to wrap his arms around her form.

 

“And I wasn’t even the real target, believe it or not,” she said with a mirthless, watery laugh.

 

“Oh god, your _dad?_ Please — not your _mo_ _m,_ to get to your dad?” he ventured hesitantly, his face twisted in concern. Bulma flashed him a small, genuine smile. Yamcha loved her parents almost as much as she did, and they, him.

 

“Do you remember that guy Chi-Chi ‘dated’—” Bulma paused to do air quotes. “—a few years back?”

 

Yamcha blinked, clearly not expecting the angle of her question. “You mean… Gohan’s father?”

 

Bulma lifted her finger in the air. “That’s the one.”

 

“That guy’s alive? A-and he kidnapped you?! That motherfucker was always so shady—”

 

Bulma barked a laugh. “Yes to the first question. And no to the second. It’s so messed up.”

 

Yamcha shook his dark head. “I’m not following.”

 

Bulma sighed deeply and launched into an abbreviated explanation of the last few days. She refrained telling him much detail about her capture, or that she was harboring her captor. She was definitely not going to launch into the confusing mess of her own emotions dealing with the Prince. But she told Yamcha what was _safe_ to say, enough to get the gist without ruining the investigation.

 

Yamcha listened silently as she unloaded on him, nodding at the appropriate parts.

 

When she was finally done, he did what he always did when she was upset and kissed her brow, then laid her head against his chest.

 

“B, you’re all right now,” he said, squeezing her even more tightly.

 

Her chest burned as deep, wracking sobs broke through, rattling her small frame. She pressed her face against his broad chest and let everything go.

 

It was exhausting being strong all the time.

 

.

.

.


	29. Chapter 29

“Who is this?”

 

“He’s with me,” a familiar, deep voice broke in brusquely.

 

Goku turned and saw the Prince, dressed in head to toe in a black suit with a chevron pattern. It was clearly bespoke. Curiously, he had a pop of blue in his pocket square and tie. He looked _sharp_ , very put together.

 

Goku frowned. Was this another memory? He turned his head and saw a shorter, old, bald man in a similarly tailored suit, but it was grey.

 

 _His_ tie was red.

 

Goku’s frown deepened. Why did it matter what color his tie was?

 

“Raditz’s brother,” the Prince went on, his voice calm. “Kakarrot.”

 

“There’s _more_ of you?” the bald man sounded amused, but it wasn’t kind. He was practically sneering; Goku noticed the Prince bristle slightly. Subtle, but there.

 

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kold,” Goku said and found it so odd to hear his voice, for him to speak such a way. He moved forward and shook the shorter man’s hand.

 

Goku’s heart hammered in his chest. He was _dreaming_ or _remembering_ this, but it was as if his heart was going to burst from him. He felt clammy, nervous, but his hand shake was sure, his body relaxed. All at once he realized he was _faking_ the pleasantry. He’d been upset at this encounter, but was acting as if everything was just fine.

 

“You look like someone… I once knew,” Mr. Kold — was this _Frieza?! —_ remarked still flashing such a blatantly unfriendly smile.

 

Goku smiled tightly and was surprised by the sudden urge to reach out and snap the man’s neck. It startled him, this violent urge. He could practically feel the man’s skin beneath his hands, his bones cracking, while he watched the life fade from his beady eyes.

 

But all he did was smile blandly and nod.

 

“Someone pleasant and charming I’m sure,” Goku said evenly.

 

“No, he was a self-righteous asshole,” Mr. Kold said just as calmly. “I didn’t like him at all.”

 

Goku noticed the Prince frown through his periphery, clearly confused at the exchange. Goku himself had no idea what the underlying subtext was here, but there was a clear threat in his tone. Mr. Kold looked over at the Prince, who had his arms crossed leaning against the wall.

 

“I’m not a fan of your Saiyan strays,” Mr. Kold said as if he wasn’t in the room. “Raditz was a fuck up. How do I know he isn’t just like his brother?”

 

Goku tapped his fingers against his leg, still smiling blandly, though he felt his insides roil with rage.

 

“He checks out,” the Prince said. “This is a courtesy call. I’m not asking for your permission.”

 

Mr. Kold barked out a laugh. “Oh, Vegeta, you’re truly my favorite. You’re the only one around here who has the balls to speak to me this way.”

 

 _Vegeta?_ Was that the Prince’s name?

 

“Okay, are we done now?” the Prince — Vegeta? — asked sharply.

 

“He’s not a cop, is he?” Mr. Kold asked abruptly.

 

Goku’s pulse skyrocketed, but his face remained impassive. “You want me to strip and check for a wire?”

 

He didn’t like the shorter man’s assessing gaze, the way he raked him from head to toe. It seemed… obscene.

 

“What part of ‘ _he_ _checks out’_ don’t you get?” Vegeta snapped.

 

“Watch your tone,” Mr. Kold said, still with the smile on his face. “You’re my favorite but everyone’s expendable around here.”

 

Vegeta’s answer was an eye roll. “You wouldn’t have half of West City if it wasn’t for me.”

 

“ _You_ answer to _me_ ,” Mr. Kold said, narrowing his eyes. Vegeta responded by pushing off the wall and waving toward Goku.

 

“Are we done here? Because last I remember, we had a job later tonight and the longer you keep us here, the less likely it’s going to happen,” Vegeta said, ignoring Mr. Kold’s statement.

 

“Yes, a job _you_ do for _me,”_ Mr. Kold insisted. A hint of pique entered the man’s tone now. It was barely there but Goku could tell that Vegeta’s show of insubordination was getting to the bald man.

 

Vegeta flicked a glance at his watch and said nothing. It was truly strange to witness their dynamic. Vegeta _clearly_ worked for Mr. Kold but refused to acknowledge the reality; while Mr. Kold tried to assert dominance, he seemed unwilling to actually flex his power to cow the dark man before him.

 

There was some sort of… _detente_ happening here.

 

People working together but in an uneasy alliance.

 

Goku shrugged off his jacket and began to loosen the black tie around his neck. Both Vegeta and Mr. Kold gaped at him in surprise.

 

He opened up his shirt and flashed his bare torso.

 

“What the _fuck?_ ” Vegeta bit out.

 

“He still thinks I’m a cop, you guys are having some homoerotic show of power and I was feeling left out. Two birds, one stone,” Goku said easily, waving his shirt open to show a lack of wires and his chiseled front.

 

Goku was shocked at his own action. This was… well, this was definitely the _Kakarrot_ side of him. Goku had an uneasy feeling that he did this to distract and diffuse the tension in the room, reading Mr. Kold’s predatory gaze correctly to take attention away from Vegeta.

 

He felt… _protective_ of Vegeta for some reason. It was disconcerting for him to realize this.

 

Mr. Kold burst out laughing, a screeching sound, and clapped. He waved a finger at Goku while looking at Vegeta, who was shaking his head and rubbing his brow.

 

“Ah, I _like_ him,” Mr. Kold declared, brandishing even white teeth.

 

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Kold, but like Vegeta asked: Are we done here? I’d really like to get back to work,” Goku said.

 

“‘ _I beg your pardon,’_ ” Mr. Kold echoed. “So _polite._ You could learn a thing or two about that, Vegeta. And yes, we’re done.”

 

Vegeta flicked his head toward Goku as a gesture to leave and Goku began to put his clothes back on.

 

“I don’t trust him,” Mr. Kold said to their retreating backs. “If your new boy is a cop—”

 

Vegeta didn’t even turn when he responded, “If he’s a cop, I’ll kill him myself.”

 

.

.

.

 

Dr. Briefs and Dr. Korin were making him relay his latest memory, the one with Frieza, in grave detail verbally. Then, they made him write it down, then had him read his words out loud. The exercise was tedious and repetitive, but it was meant to strengthen his memory ties. They would have his scrawls transcribed digitally later on, but the act of explaining what he remembered out loud, then writing it down, then reading it back to them was there to help his brain connect the dots further.

 

When he was done, they were extremely excited, especially with the name “Vegeta.” The Prince had kept his identity secret for so long and now they had a _clue_ …! Finally, something _relevant_ to the investigation. It only took a month, which apparently was actually really advanced progress.

 

“Yay,” Goku said, though the word was laced with sarcasm. He sometimes felt like a lab rat and that the doctors forgot he was a real person.

 

The older men exchanged glances.

 

“Interesting,” Dr. Briefs said. Goku frowned, missing why they doctors seemed to take his reaction as something of note.

 

“Do you _feel_ any different from usual?” Dr. Korin asked.

 

Goku shrugged. “The same, I guess.”

 

Dr. Briefs stroked his mustache. “Do you feel the memories are impacting your personality?”

 

Goku blinked, surprised. Did he… was he _acting_ different? He didn’t _feel_ different, just like he said. He didn’t _notice_ anything different.

 

“I don’t… think so,” Goku said carefully.

 

Dr. Briefs and Dr. Korin exchanged glances again and it _really_ irritated him. He was _right there_. He huffed and was further annoyed when their eyebrows shot to their hair.

 

“What?” he snapped, frustrated.

 

“Your… _patience_ level has decreased,” Dr. Briefs said, his mouth twitching with what seemed to be amusement.

 

Goku’s lips parted, finding he couldn’t refute that statement. He _was_ a little more irritable these days and was finding it harder and harder to apply Grampy’s lessons of respect and calm.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately, his eyes wide.

 

“Oh, don’t be sorry, son,” Dr. Briefs said, patting his arm. “We admit our bedside manner can sometimes come off abrupt. Rest assured that while we are motivated by several factors, not excluding our scientific curiosity, we _do_ have your best interest at heart.”

 

Goku looked at his feet, feeling guilty at his rudeness. The doctors had been kind to him this entire time.

 

“I understand. I’m still processing all of this and sometimes it’s overwhelming,” Goku confessed.

 

“But _physically_ , do you feel any ill effects from the new memories?” Dr. Korin broke in. Goku shook his head, and at that, the doctors exchanged another glance. “All right. Now we’ve concluded after a month of tests that there are generally no ill effects, we’d like to increase your dosage.”

 

Goku swallowed, suddenly nervous. “Oh?”

 

“Yes. We hope to accelerate your progress. But sometimes adding _mor_ e of something isn’t necessarily the answer, but we won’t know until we try,” Dr. Briefs explained. “We will continue our check ins and I appreciate your candidness when you do so. We eventually plan to make this a therapy for brain injury in _general_ , and if you feel _any_ ill effects: physically, emotionally, mentally… however you define it, please let us know.”

 

Goku nodded slowly. “O-okay. Right.”

 

Dr. Briefs smiled at him widely. “Perhaps there will be a day you recover your entire past. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

 

Goku smiled tremulously at the doctor. That was still up in the air.

 

“Yes, wonderful,” Goku said aloud.

 

.

.

.

 

He took double the dose of SenzuB that night and felt a warm tingle fill him. That hadn’t happened at half the dosage, but it was a pleasant sensation, one that radiated from his center to his fingertips. It only lasted a few moments but it was significant enough for Goku to notice and note in his therapy journal to discuss with the doctors in their next check up.

 

He looked to the side where Gohan was reading his book quietly. He was such an easy child to care for; back in Papaya Island, he’d babysat a variety of children and it was enough for him to understand that he really lucked out with Gohan. He was incredibly well behaved, though he had bouts of natural impishness.

 

Chi-Chi had done an excellent job raising him.

 

Gohan responded well to reprimands when he started to act up as children were wont to do at times, especially when they were bored or hungry. Goku was pleased that after all this time with him, he was actually able to _read_ Gohan’s moods and could tell whether the restlessness was whether it was due to boredom or hunger.

 

He was actually _getting to know_ his son and it made him so incredibly happy.

 

Goku finished the glass of water in his hand when he heard a tell-tale knock and then the door swishing open. He’d given Chi-Chi a keycard to his apartment but she always made sure to knock to let him know she was entering.

 

She smiled at him politely as she entered dressed in her scrubs — she’d just finished her shift at the hospital. The smile turned to a full-blown, _genuine_ grin at seeing their son.

 

“Hey, baby, ready to go home?” Chi-Chi called to their son, not even bothering to acknowledge his hand wave greeting. Goku was immediately taken aback. She’d been acting strange these past few weeks — being _rude_ to him.

 

“No,” Gohan said, still looking down at the book.

 

Chi-Chi frowned at her son’s blatant defiance and looked ready to scold him when Goku grasped her arm. She flinched, like he’d hurt her, when all he did was _touch_ her.

 

Goku had had enough.

 

“Let him read. We need to talk,” he said as calmly as he could. They were in front of their son after all.

 

Her lashes fluttered. She was clearly surprised at the tone of his voice.

 

“About what?” she asked coolly, pulling her arm away from his grasp.

 

“Not here,” he said, his eyes angling to their son. At that, she let out a small sigh.

 

“Where then?” Chi-Chi asked quietly, waving at the area. His apartment was open concept.

 

“Bedroom,” he said, since it was the only place for privacy and a closed door. Strangely, she looked panicked at the suggestion.

 

“Can this wait another time?” Chi-Chi said, and he was confused to hear a thread of… _fear_ in her voice? What in the _world?_ Did she think he was going to hurt her?! It was absurd!

 

“No, this can’t wait. We need to talk _now_ ,” he insisted. He had to get to the bottom of her strange behavior and this reluctance to be _alon_ e with him was utterly frustrating.

 

She looked conflicted, glancing back at Gohan and then up at him. He crossed his arms and raised his brows, waiting. He wasn’t asking for anything unreasonable, though he was concerned about the smudges beneath her eyes… was she working too much? Was that why she was acting odd? She was over-tired…?

 

But no, that couldn’t be it. She’d been acting odd since that baby book evening and she wasn’t over tired then.

 

“Fine,” she said finally. She turned to Gohan. “Baby, I’m just going to talk to your father for a bit then we’re going to go home.”

 

Goku knew that she was making that declaration as a statement for both Gohan and him, clearly stating that she wanted to leave as soon as possible. Goku wondered where her sudden reluctance to be near him came from. Which was why they needed to talk…

 

When they finally made it to his room and he closed the door, she immediately hissed at him, “What is this about?”

 

She seemed furious with him and it was baffling!

 

He waved at her incredulously. “ _This._ How you’re acting right now. What have I done to deserve this?”

 

Chi-Chi reared back, blinking, the redness in her cheeks darkening. “I don’t know what you—”

 

He took a step forward and he was further upset when she stumbled back. “Yes, you _do_. Right now. You’re acting like I’m going to _attack_ you. Why? Did I say something? What did I do?”

 

“N-nothing, you’re imagining things,” she stammered, and he could tell she knew that it sounded false to her own ears.

 

“No, I’m not,” he said calmly. “My head may be messed up but I’m not _stupid_ , Chi-Chi. You’re afraid of me.”

 

Chi-Chi bit her lip and she shook her head. “No. That’s not… no.”

 

He threw his hands in the air. “You know that _Gohan_ is starting to notice? You’re not going to stand there shaking like a leaf and tell me to my face that there’s not a problem.”

 

He closed the space between them so that he had her full attention, lowering his head so that they were eye-to-eye.

 

“So we’re going to fix it. Right _fucking_ now.”

 

He pointed to his palm and tapped it determinedly to emphasize his point.

 

Chi-Chi’s jaw dropped and Goku realized he was being unnecessarily aggressive. He was upset but he hadn’t meant to speak that way to her. It was rude and inappropriate.

 

That wasn’t _him…_ that was _Kakarrot…_ which was him.

 

God, he was confused.

 

He ran his hand through his hair as he pulled back slightly. “Sorry. My language—”

 

He wasn’t able to finish his sentence because her lips were suddenly on his, swallowing the rest of his breath, his words, his thoughts. She was tugging at his neck and hair as she urged his mouth open, and he _did_ because it felt natural and good. _Sh_ _e_ felt good and he liked the way she tasted…

 

But sanity eventually prevailed. Goku grasped her upper arms and pushed her away lightly. This was getting out of hand.

 

“ _Chi-Chi._ ”

 

She gasped, her fingers rising to her lips. “Oh, my god. I— this… I’m so sorry.”

 

“It’s fine,” he said carefully. It _was_. He was caught off guard and surprised, that was all. He couldn’t recall ever being kissed like that. Not on Papaya Island. Actually, when he stopped and thought about it, Chi-Chi was probably the last person he kissed on the lips…

 

“No, it isn’t,” she said, sounding miserable and it baffled Goku. Her hands went to her cheeks and she shook her head. “You’re right. I’m a mess and I’m taking it out on you.”

 

Okay. Progress. She was starting to open up.

 

He still didn’t know what the problem was so he gestured to the bed for them to sit. She looked at it nervously before sitting at the edge, her hands twined together, her head bowed.

 

“You said we were supposed to be honest with each other,” he pointed out gently.

 

“I’m embarrassed,” she said to her feet.

 

Goku leaned back slightly and regarded Chi-Chi’s lowered face.

 

“Why?” he prompted.

 

“What do you mean ‘why?’ I just… _attacked_ you,” she mumbled, her hands rising to her cheeks. Goku blinked rapidly at the guilt and anguish in her voice. Was she upset that she kissed him and thought he hated her for some reason for it?

 

He caught her chin between his fingers and tilted her head towards his to force her to look up. Her eyes shone up at him uncertainly and he could tell she really felt _bad_ about what she did. Okay, so she didn’t ask for permission, that wasn’t quite right, but the kiss wasn’t _unwelcome_.

 

Impulsively, he leaned over and brushed his lips against hers, catching her top lip and then the full curve of her bottom. She looked so sad and her lips were parted _just so…_ it felt good to do it.

 

It felt… well, it felt _right_.

 

She gasped, startled by his action. He pulled away reluctantly with a shrug, his face heating slightly. He cleared his throat and licked his lips. He could taste her still…

 

“There. I kissed you without warning. We’re even,” he said, with a tremulous smile. “Don’t be embarrassed.”

 

She was gaping at him openly now, utter shock on every plane of her face.

 

“Why did you do that?” she whispered.

 

“Because I wanted to,” he said honestly, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. “Because _you_ wanted me to. Am I wrong?”

 

The flush continued down her neck. “N-no.”

 

Awkward silence descended. Goku had to stem the sudden urge to leave the room and all at once it dawned on him. Was this what triggered the strange behavior all month? This _pull_ toward each other, a physical need to be close, to… exchange _more_ than polite touches, but unsure whether it was appropriate, what was right, what the other was thinking…?

 

But he didn’t want to make any assumptions. She had to tell him in her own words.

 

“Chi-Chi...” he sighed. “What’s been bothering you? And don’t say nothing.”

 

She lifted her eyes to meet his and she shook her head. “It’s stupid. It’s not your problem.”

 

“Was all that talk about honesty lip service? Because if so, I’m disappointed,” Goku said, crossing his arms. He could see Chi-Chi’s temper flare, probably because she thought he was being a little patronizing. But her anger was preferable to sadness.

 

His relief was short-lived because her face immediately crumpled and she whispered, “I can’t. I can’t tell you. It’s not _fair._ It’s not like we can do anything about it.”

 

Goku ran a hand through his hair. “Chi-Chi, _please_. How do you know we can’t do anything about it when you haven’t even told me what the problem is? Just tell me.”

 

“You’re not Kakarrot!” she burst out, then immediately looked horrified. “I’m sorry.”

 

If she punched him in the face, Goku wasn’t sure it would have hurt as much as what she just said. He struggled to keep his face impassive, because he was sure showing how upset he was would only make things worse.

 

Okay. So she was upset at him, _irrationally_ , because he was no longer the person she wanted him to be.

 

Just like Piccolo. Captain Kami.

  
Everyone.

 

He wasn’t surprised, but it still hurt.

 

“You’re right, that’s not something we can do much about,” he said finally, but there _had_ to be a way to make peace. He didn’t want her feelings against him to manifest in front of Gohan and inadvertently hurt their boy. He didn’t want to grow resentful against her.

 

“I didn’t mean to… Goku, you’re _great_ , I just… I miss...” Chi-Chi shrugged helplessly.

 

“It’s kind of ridiculous though, when you think about it,” he pointed out, his brows raised. “Because I _am_ him.”

 

Chi-Chi laughed a little. “Yeah, I guess.”

 

“And I’m _not._ Five years is a long time, too, right? Are you the same woman _now_ you were back then?” he pointed out sensibly.

 

She tilted her head and wiped her cheek when a stray tear fell. Her expression turned thoughtful.

 

“Yes and no.”

 

He spread his arms wide. “Yes and no, too. Just… kind of different circumstances.”

 

She laughed again. “Very.”

 

“See? Was that so bad? Telling me,” he said. Well it still kinda stung for _him,_ to be reminded that he was somehow _less than_ he was right now… but how he felt didn’t matter. He was focused on making Chi-Chi happy. And if she was, he was.

 

“I don’t know. Are _you_ okay?” she asked point-blank, reading him correctly.

 

Goku never found it hard to be honest, usually, but now he struggled not to fib. “Not really, but I’ll be okay. I want _you_ to be happy.”

 

She seemed a little startled at his words, the red in her cheeks deepening.

 

“It doesn’t make me happy to hurt your feelings,” she said finally, her lips drooping. “It’s not like you can help what happened, who you are...”

 

Goku tried to find an angle that was positive. He grasped her hand and placed it on his chest, so she could feel his heart beneath her palm. She was startled at his movement but he was determined to make his point.

 

“I’m _here_ ,” he told her. “You don’t know half the things I’ve begun to remember and they’re not all… _great_. But you caring so much about how I was back then must mean it wasn’t all bad, that _I_ wasn’t all bad.”

 

“You _weren’t_ ,” she insisted shakily. He smiled.

 

“See? That makes me feel good,” he said.

 

“You are so different. A _good_ different,” she added hastily. Her fingers pressed against his chest to emphasize her point.

 

“I don’t think you really mean that, but I appreciate the sentiment,” Goku drawled but he kept his tone light and teasing.

 

“ _I do._ You’re… thoughtful,” she pointed out, then flushed.

 

“I wasn’t sensitive back then?” Goku returned, his eyes dancing. That wasn’t a huge surprise. Any memory he had of himself made him think he was a huge asshole, to be honest.

 

“No, not _at all_ ,” she said dryly. Goku lowered her hand from his chest, but he found he didn’t want to let her hand go. He rubbed his thumb across her knuckles reflexively as he thought of her behavior. It still didn’t make much sense.

 

“Okay, I understand what’s been _bothering_ you, but it doesn’t really _explain_ why you act… _scared_ around me,” he pointed out. “Why? I really don’t get it.”

 

Chi-Chi’s hand jerked beneath his and he thought it was fascinating that a red flush could actually go below her neck. “I… I’m not _scared_ of you. Not the… way you think.”

 

“So you _are_ scared of me.”

 

“No, no,” she said, shaking her head rapidly. She made a choking sound of distress. “I can’t… I’m too embarrassed.”

 

He paused and thought of a way to delicately phrase what he suspected the issue was.

 

“Is it related to you throwing yourself at me earlier?” he prompted gently.

 

She pulled her hand from his to cover her face. “Oh god. Sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

 

He fell silent for a moment. “Yes, you do.”

 

She pressed her face deeper in her hands at his quiet words.

 

“It’s okay, you know,” he said. At that, her hands fell.

 

“Huh?”

 

“It’s okay. If you… want to be physical,” he said slowly, carefully, his eyes assessing. She had to know that she wasn’t out of bounds, but he didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable. “I’m okay with it.”

 

“Wh-what?” she choked out, like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

 

“You’ve been acting strange all month because you want us to have a physical relationship,” he pointed out bluntly, to remove all doubt. He wanted to make sure they were on the same page. “Do I have that right?”

 

Her eyes were so large, so wide, Goku almost laughed, but suspected that wouldn’t be a reaction she’d welcome. He didn’t see what the big deal was. It was a natural thing between men and women, right? They already made a _child!_ It made all sorts of sense.

 

“I admit sex is not something I really think about. It’s not a part of my life. But if it’s important to you… _you’re_ important to me. I’d like to try,” he said frankly. Actually, it scared him a little bit since it wasn’t something he ever did or craved. The only context he had were in dreams with _her._ But he couldn’t really see a downside and he was a fast learner. He liked how she felt when she pressed herself against him. They’d already _done it_ even if he didn’t fully remember, so if she wanted to…?

 

It seemed like a straightforward solution. Simple.

 

When she remained silent, staring at him like a deer caught in headlights, doubt began to creep in. Had he read her completely wrong? Had he just insulted her and mucked their tentative peace? Krillin had told him how baffling women could be and he disagreed at the time; but interacting with Chi-Chi these past few minutes was truly testing him.

 

“Is there… a rule book somewhere I forgot to read where we’re not allowed to?” Goku asked finally as silence stretched. She shook her head jerkily, still silent, but indicating she had heard every word he’d said.

 

Slowly, he reached out and stroked the side of her face, down her neck… he really loved the feel of her skin. Her breathing turned shallow, rapid, as her angelic face raised with such an expression of _yearning_ , her tongue darting out to lick her lips—

 

She leaned into his touch and blew out a shaky breath. It was… a strangely intoxicating reaction. His heart began to hammer against his chest and the room suddenly felt hot, too hot. Her hands tentatively reached out and spread across his chest, then crawled up to his neck. It was strange, even though he felt hot, he shivered under her hands.

 

“Gohan should be fine with his books for a while,” he murmured against her ear. She clutched at him in response.

 

He locked the bedroom door.

 

.

.

.

 


	30. Chapter 30

“Where’s the woman?” the Prince abruptly inquired in the middle of her father’s usual questions. Bulma held her breath as she watched the security footage she’d downloaded securely from Capsule Corp servers.

 

She knew he was curious the first and second day she didn’t appear for their usual time or an evening chat. Of course, he hadn’t said anything, hadn’t reacted… so she expected him to pretend nothing of note had happened. She was a little surprised that he even bothered to ask directly, as opposed to weaseling it out of her father through some sort of mind game.

 

“None of your concern,” her father said immediately. She was a little heartened by the slightly defensive tone in his voice. Her dad was normally a very neutral man.

 

Bulma watched as the Prince got up from his bed and pulled the white chair from its usual space. He slowly crossed his arms. He kept his face forward but his eyes looked pointedly up at the ceiling where he knew the camera was.

 

Then the tapping started.

 

C.

 

O.

 

W.

 

He stopped tapping.

 

Her eyebrow twitched and she _hated_ that she was affected, immediately incensed. Who the _fuck_ did he think he was calling her a —

 

A.

 

R.

 

D.

 

_Coward._

 

Bulma pushed the laptop away from her violently.

 

“You _arrogant_ son of a bitch—!” she shrieked at the machine. Bulma caught herself and touched her forehead. “He’s making you crazy. You are screaming at an inanimate object and now you’re talking to yourself. Jesus Christ.”

 

Bulma growled and shook her hands in the air in frustration. She knew he was _goading_ her, but it didn’t stop her from asking herself:

 

... _was he right?_

 

Since “the incident” she hadn’t really done much the past few days except intermittently ranting to Yamcha vaguely since she really couldn’t say much more. It helped a little because she couldn’t really go to Chi-Chi about this — the woman still had no clue that Vegeta was _alive_ let alone the same roof as her baby daddy — and Yamcha was used to her ranting.

 

He was a calming presence. She was glad Yamcha was still open to cuddles and eating chips while watching trash TV, though he made it pretty clear that sex was off the table. Bulma was actually strangely relieved, though she pretended to feel insulted.

 

It truly _was_ an end of an era for the both of them. They’d been broken up for a long time but maybe at the back of her mind, she thought he would always be an “option.” Still, the past few days was really an indication that they’d truly moved on to a close friendship and nothing more. It made her a little sad, but she was glad Yamcha was still available as a friend.

 

It was what she had needed after all the chaos and drama of the past few days.

 

She opened up the book she found on Stockholm again and sighed. It didn’t really seem to _help_. All it kept saying was she needed to understand how fucked up everything was and to recognize unhealthy signs of being drawn to someone so damaged as a coping mechanism — which she already _did_. And that she needed supportive, loving family and friends.

 

Which she already had.

 

It did suggest therapy, but considering the sensitive nature of the entire situation it didn’t make too much sense in the immediate term. Talking to someone at length she was supposed to be _honest_ with while also withholding information seemed counterintuitive.

 

Why did she care what he thought? Why did his taunts upset her?

 

Why was she wondering — worrying — if he was going to have another _episode?_

 

 _He seems to be doing better now, though…_ Bulma told herself as she slowly returned to her desk and touched the screen with a sigh.

 

After she left, she noticed her father prescribe him a low dosage of an anti-psychotic during his morning meds which seemed like a good precaution. If the Prince noticed a change in the pills he took to recover, he made no comment or otherwise changed his behavior. It was as if he hadn’t had a depressive episode at all.

 

Plus more music was added to his music player: a lot of classical orchestral tunes alongside rock music in the same vein as the Rolling Stones. The Prince seemed to appreciate that. Though, that was mostly speculation since he only responded with a slightly surprised grunt when he pressed the “forward” button for the next song in his player.

 

What was _more_ interesting was the new reading material Dr. Briefs gave the man.

 

They were clearly _pointed_ : a couple books on cognitive behavioral therapy ( _So optimistic, dad,_ Bulma thought), Carl Sagan’s _The Demon-Haunted World: Science as a Candle in the Dark_ , and interestingly, a book on organized crime: _Hidden Power: The Strategic Logic of Organized Crime._

 

It wasn’t mainstream and was published by a university press.

 

The Prince actually laughed when he read the titles out loud. It didn’t sound sarcastic… he seemed genuinely tickled by the books.

 

Unsurprisingly, he dove into _Hidden Power_ first.

 

Her father started to ask him what he thought of the book the following day, in between the regular questions about Kakarrot and Frieza. He didn’t answer his question at _all_ , but he _did_ give her father a street name in response and then fell silent the rest of the day.

 

Clearly, the Prince considered the books “payment” so he gave him some information. Date and times were important. But _addresses_ were _more_ significant. Was it a secret headquarters? Was something significant going to happen _at_ the address? If so… what?

 

Would he say?

 

Today’s video was the first time he’d acknowledged her lack of presence.

 

“ _You give me something, I give you something...”_ echoed in Bulma’s mind.

 

Bulma sighed into her hands, as she stared at the security footage with his repeat tapping. He was also purposely spelling “cow” several times before tapping “coward” because he knew it would piss her off.

 

The message was clear: he wanted her to come back or else he wasn’t going to give the rest of the address. She stared at her laptop and tapped her feet nervously, wondering what she should do.

 

.

.

.

 

The next day, Bulma found herself back at Capsule Corporation.

 

“I want it to be clear that I support you,” her dad said as he palmed the swinging door that would lead them to the Prince’s private cell. But he didn’t quite push it open. “I hope you don’t feel pressured to—”

 

“Dad, when’s the last time you got me to do anything I didn’t want to?” Bulma broke in gently, her heart warming at his concern.

 

“You were five years old and I made you eat your vegetables,” he told her with a small answering smile as he pushed the door forward. Bulma laughed lightly as she followed him into the familiar room.

 

But, when she saw the Prince sitting on the edge of his bed, her laughter faded. He had his elbows on his knees and a book in his hands, clearly deeply absorbing what was in front of him.

 

Bulma’s stomach tightened.

 

Of course he would look _sexy_ while reading.

 

“Let’s just get this over with,” Bulma said abruptly. This would be like ripping a Band-Aid off. She could do this. He was just a manipulative monster and all her feelings were a hundred percent due to coping with her trauma. Rinse, repeat. She would tell that to herself until it stuck.

 

She pressed the microphone. “Hey, asshole.”

 

He didn’t move, change, twitch. Nothing.

 

He flipped a page.

 

Bulma pursed her lip and told herself not to be baited. He was _purposely_ giving her the silent treatment. _Like a child._ She knew he heard her. He knew she was there.

 

“Hello, young man,” Dr. Briefs broke in after clearing his throat, undeterred. “I see you’ve made quite the inroads with that book. I’m curious to know whether you feel the professor’s posits are accurate.”

 

“Why did you get me this book?” the Prince asked, lowering the book finally, a brow furrowed.

 

Bulma frowned and looked at her father. What did he _know?_ She was beginning to learn that her dad held a _lot_ of secrets, knew a lot more than he let on. A couple weeks ago, she didn’t even know how much he worked with law enforcement.

 

“I’d like to understand someone who may have first-hand experience of the themes in the text,” Dr. Briefs said. Bulma frowned as she stared at the Prince and back at her father. She thought it was obvious: it was a book on _organized crime_. She hadn’t read the book herself, but there seemed to be something _specific_ the Prince was focused on, something her father was alluding to that she didn’t get.

 

The man who’d been haunting her this past week took a deep breath, sounding a little resigned.

 

“You know more than you’ve let on,” he said, waving a finger in their direction without looking at them.

 

“A few may say I’m a genius,” her father said easily.

 

“Now I know where she gets it,” the Prince went on, raising dark eyes toward their direction.

 

Bulma was _missing_ something here. The Prince and her dad were suddenly _buddy-buddy_ after one week, especially after their encounter?

 

“My wife is very confident as well. We don’t see the point of false modesty,” Dr. Briefs said cheerfully. “We prefer to be authentic. Don’t you?”

 

“‘ _Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else's opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation,’”_ the Prince quoted Oscar Wilde in a slightly sing-song manner.

 

“Are you guys besties now? Are we going to start braiding each other’s hair while we talk about life and which boys we like?” Bulma broke in, slightly disconcerted. Who _was_ this guy? She knew he was well-read, that much was clear; but he also was a fan of literature?

 

“Don’t worry, you’re still my favorite Dr. Briefs,” the Prince drawled, and dammit if her face didn’t heat up at his light quip. It felt strange to be directly acknowledged especially after their encounter.

 

“What an honor,” Bulma returned sarcastically.

 

“Undoubtedly.”

 

“Well, I’m glad you’re in a good mood,” Bulma said and found that she wasn’t lying or sarcastic about the statement at all. She was… glad to see him less tense. “Are you also in a _sharing_ mood?”

 

“Hm, not much for foreplay, are you?”

 

“Young man,” her father coughed. Bulma giggled lightly and then covered it in her own cough when she realized that was an incredibly inappropriate reaction in her part. Her father shot her a look.

 

“Let’s get to the point,” Bulma said in what she hoped sounded brusque.

 

“Park Street on 17th Ave,” the Prince went on easily, startling her father beside him. Dr. Briefs pulled out his tablet and started typing furiously on it. She wasn’t sure why the Prince gave the information so freely, but Bulma wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

 

“What’s the significance of the address?” she pressed.

 

“Kold has to store some of his shit somewhere, right?”

 

To say she was surprised he actually answered her question directly, with no double talk and no riddles was starting to make her feel uneasy. Her father, however, was still typing into his tablet all the info the Prince told them.

 

This was _too_ easy. And they hadn’t seen each other for half a week and had been antagonistic this entire time.

 

“Why are you telling us this? Is this a _trap?_ ” she bit out suspiciously.

 

“You give me something, I give you something,” he said calmly for what seemed like the millionth time. Probably really only the _third_ time, but it felt like several times with the way the phrase kept echoing in her brain.

 

“A few books and you tell us the location of one of Frieza’s secret holds?!” Bulma exclaimed in disbelief. “I find that hard to believe.”

 

The Prince leaned back and tilted his head. “Of course not.”

 

“What then?” Bulma demanded.

 

Bulma noticed her father’s fingers slow at the exchange, his head lifting toward her and then at the Prince’s.

 

“If we weren’t so rudely interrupted a week ago, I may have been inclined to name names, too,” the Prince said pointedly. He spread his arms. “Still time to make that up, though.”

 

Slowly, the Prince’s meaning made itself clear. Even though he hadn’t been in his right mind, he _remembered._

 

He was referencing their kiss.

 

 _You give me something, I give you something_.

 

“How far are you willing to whore your daughter to get to Frieza, Papa Briefs?” the Prince went on coolly, an unpleasant smile dancing on his lips. Her father’s face fell while Bulma sputtered, beside herself in fury.

 

“Young man, that insinuation is uncalled for,” her father said quietly.

 

Oh, he was _not_ going to get the upper hand on this!

 

“What do I get if I flash my tits?” Bulma said as calm as she could, despite the rage flowing through her.

 

“Bulma!” her father gasped.

 

The Prince’s eyes gleamed at her defiant question. “Visuals are meaningless. I’m only willing to trade for physical rewards.”

 

“Hand job? Blow job? Hell, _rim job?_ Let’s throw in a threesome with a bunch of models in there, too,” Bulma rattled on, still in a conversational tone.

 

“That’s enough, Bulma,” Dr. Briefs said, his tone concerned.

 

“No need to be _vulgar._ Your father is present,” the Prince said, not missing a beat. “Personally, I prefer one-on-one. Call me old-fashioned.”

 

“This conversation is—” Dr. Briefs said exasperated.

 

“Deal!” Bulma chirped, clapping. “Okay, so now that we’ve established that you’re having _another_ mental break, where you cannot tell fact from fiction, let’s just _say_ we fucked and you tell us everything you know about Frieza, okay?”

 

Stunned silence followed her saccharine statement. She knew she was pushing it but she didn’t care. He wasn’t going to walk all over her and accuse her father of something so outrageous! But after a moment, to her surprise, the Prince barked out a laugh. The sound was warm, deep, and Bulma had to suppress a shiver at the how much she liked his laugh…

 

“Dr. Malaka,” he said apropos to nothing.

 

Bulma startled. What _about_ Wukong Hospital’s psych ward’s senior physician? Her father’s jaw dropped, clearly also confused at the direction of the conversation.

 

“I think if you can guarantee him protection, he’ll talk,” the Prince said, shocking Bulma. Dr. Malaka worked for _Frieza?_ Bulma always thought he was a nice guy! He was an upstanding doctor, a pillar in the medical community, and was known for being sensitive to the plight of patients!

 

The Prince lifted a brow as silence stretched.

 

“Frieza’s web is larger than either of you know,” he said.

 

“Why are you telling us this?” Bulma asked faintly, still trying to process this bombshell.

 

He tilted his head to the other side. “Because you’re going to come visit me this evening.”

 

At that, Bulma laughed nervously while her father shook his head and gave her a worried look.

 

“In your _dreams!_ ” Bulma exclaimed.

 

“We’ve already established that,” he said softly.

 

Bulma had no clever rejoinder.

 

.

.

.

 

Of course, Bulma didn’t visit the Prince that evening. She had enough sense to ignore his not-so-subtle come on. She was _not_ going to be baited now that she was determined to get over her Stockholm symptoms. While she still struggled with _wanting_ to keep playing the games he was clearly throwing her way, she could still affect her behavior.

 

She had control over her choices and how she acted.

 

Her feelings weren’t even _real_ , she told herself. She was simply _coping_.

 

She couldn’t resist, however, turning the security feed on the time he probably expected her to show.

 

In the _safety_ of her own bedroom.

 

He was still in bed, so maybe he hadn’t expected her to show after all. She wasn’t sure why she felt a little disappointed by that. Maybe his words were only teasing, to rile her up…

 

… which _good_ , she told herself. The more he realized that he couldn’t affect—

 

— his hands were tapping. He was lying down, so it was his palm over his heart. To the untrained eye, it just looked like he was listening to music and tapping out a rhythm. He tapped his feet at the same time, in the same rhythm, probably to keep the illusion.

 

But Bulma knew better.

 

Despite herself, Bulma leaned forward, her nose practically pressed against her laptop screen as she tried to review what he was trying to tell her.

 

I.

 

M.

 

S.

 

O.

  
R.

 

Bulma pulled her eyes away, clutching at her chest. He wasn’t… stop it. This was another manipulation.

 

Still, Bulma couldn’t help but wonder what he was apologizing _for?_ For kidnapping and terrorizing her? For _kissing_ her? For calling her a _whore_ in front of her father?

 

She buried her face in her hands. Wow, what a list to apologize for.

 

Did it matter?

 

 _Stop it, Briefs. He’s not sorry for_ anything _._

 

She closed her laptop cover.

 

.

.

.

 

The next couple of weeks moved so quickly, it was surreal. The regular conversations continued with the Prince feeding them disjointed, but legitimate, pieces of information. Bulma wasn’t sure what exactly was being _done_ with this info since nothing changed in the news. Of her little understanding of investigative work, it was possible that everything was there to build a rock-solid case.

 

Men like Frieza Kold were slippery. There had to be _no_ chance of a lawyer getting him off on a light sentence or a _short,_ mostly symbolic stint in jail.

 

Her dad _did_ start sharing his lunch with the Prince in person, which Bulma knew was probably the biggest change. She joined them _outside_ of his cell, without his knowledge, as she felt uncomfortable leaving her father alone with that man.

 

It was all rather odd, watching and listening to them cordially discuss the books sent to him, like some weird book club. The Prince plowed through them rather quickly — pointedly ignoring the therapy books — so her father continued to give him a mixture of non-fiction books of the scientific and historical kind.

 

She tried not to feel left out. Since she purposely shut down any further interaction beyond the chats alongside her father, the Prince had retreated to cool politeness. Even when she checked the security footage in the evening, he hadn’t sent her further coded messages. One night, she felt like a creeper for waiting for an entire hour for him to _say_ or do something that she finally stopped checking.

 

The Prince was _way_ more familiar and cordial toward her father now, and it kinda stung.

 

Then she was upset that she was upset.

 

 _This is what you wanted_ , Bulma told herself. _This is healthy_.

 

So why did it bother her so much?

 

Her father had just handed the Prince the chicken wrap her mother made for them, when the Prince asked, “Is it possible for me to receive some workout equipment?”

 

“It depends,” her father said with a smile. “What do you have for us today?”

 

“Nothing,” the Prince returned. “Sometimes friends do each other favors without expecting anything back.”

 

Bulma rolled her eyes as she bit into her wrap. The gall. _Friends_. Yeah, right. She knew that the Prince was testing her dad, the way he always did.

 

“Friends, hm?” Dr. Briefs echoed, nodding. “Very well. May I call you Vegeta, then?”

 

Bulma started, staring at her father and their captive. The Prince dropped his wrap on the table and leaned back against his white chair.

 

“She finally had the _cajones_ to look me up?”

 

Bulma flushed. So. That _was_ his real name?

 

Her father’s look toward her on the other side of the wall was quick, barely perceptible, but clearly the Prince — _Vegeta?_ — noticed it and looked at the wall.

 

She hadn’t told her father anything since she _hadn’t_ believed that was his name. She thought it was a last-ditch barb, a trap, from a broken man on a hospital bed. She had no idea how her father got that name.

 

“Interesting. She didn’t. You found out some other way,” Vegeta said, his tone calm but Bulma noticed the way his jaw tightened ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing.

 

“You understand who you’re speaking to, yes?” Dr. Briefs said. “I have an incredible amount of resources at my disposal.”

 

Vegeta lifted both hands and spread his fingers. “That’s how many people that had access to my name this past decade.”

 

Slowly, he closed each finger until only four were left. “And that’s how many people left _alive_ that I’m _aware_ know. You...” he lowered a finger, “….your daughter...” he lowered another finger, “...one of my men...” He kept his pointer finger up. “...and Frieza.”

 

Bulma felt the hair rise on her arms when he finally lowered his final finger so he had a fist raised.

 

“But I’m missing someone,” the Prince went on, shaking his raised fist.

 

Bulma looked at the security alert button and found herself slowly standing, like she was getting ready to sprint.

 

“Someone I _thought_ was dead. Five years ago. Hell, a _month_ ago,” he continued with a mirthless laugh.

 

Oh, god, he knew. He _knew—_

 

“Yes. Mr. Korzen,” her father said in an even tone. He had no trace of nervousness.

 

 _Dad!_ Bulma screamed in her mind. How could he just _sit_ there! _?_

 

Still, the Prince had done nothing, not yet.

 

Bulma saw him slowly, ever so slowly, lower his hands to his sides. His rage was silent but _palpable_ even with the solid walls and distance.

 

“That fucker’s a cockroach,” Vegeta said with a mirthless laugh, and there was a lilt there that Bulma didn’t like. It sounded… manic. “He just won’t die. He _won’t.”_

 

“He’s not your enemy, Vegeta,” her father said softly, gently. “Frieza is.”

 

Vegeta covered his face briefly with his hands before laughing to the ceiling.

 

Then he shot to his feet, the chair toppling behind him.

 

Bulma’s legs were moving before her brain caught up with her. She knew that the orderlies were coming, but she was already _there_ , and she would be damned if he hurt her dad!

 

The moment the door swished open, Bulma brandished her pen weapon, the 10,000 volts side.

 

Her father stayed seated while Vegeta turned his head at the noise. Unlike the last time he saw her, he didn’t react surprised this time. In fact, every angle in his face was tense and furious, like _she_ had betrayed him.

 

 _Ludicrous_.

 

“Bulma, this is unnecessary,” Dr. Briefs said, raising his hands in a calming gesture.

 

“What is that?” Vegeta bit out, nodding toward Bulma’s pen.

 

“Don’t touch my dad,” Bulma warned, slowly advancing toward her father and placing him behind her, the pen brandished like a wand.

 

“My dear, he hasn’t done anything, we’re just having a conversation...” her father went on, touching her side lightly.

 

“He was going to lunge at you,” Bulma stated, her eye still trained at the dark, tense man before her.

 

“You read minds now?” Vegeta asked.

 

“Bulma. Notice no orderlies. Nothing has happened,” Dr. Briefs said.

 

“No, she’s right. I was going to attack you to force you to take me to Kakarrot,” Vegeta said conversationally, like describing the weather. Bulma’s grip tightened on the pen.

 

“That would have been foolish,” her father said calmly.

 

“What’s that going to do, woman? We’ve already _danced_ before. You know how this ends,” Vegeta said coldly, his eyes trained on the pen.

 

She pressed the button, the pen crackling with pulsating energy. “Yeah, but you’re in _my_ territory now.”

 

His reaction was a baffling smile. “Right.”

 

Before she knew it, Vegeta closed the space between them and grasped her wrist with the pen. Her father stumbled back, shocked. Bulma tried to wrench her hand from him, her thumb falling away from the button. She could already hear the orderlies’ steps coming.

 

But instead of trying to turn the weapon on herself like she expected him to do, he tugged her hand and pressed the still heated end of the pen at the crook of his neck. She stumbled a little and once again was pressed against his chest.

 

The image of him kissing her flashed before her unbidden... and unwanted.

 

_Totally unwanted._

 

But he was practically breathing against her face! She couldn’t help think it!

 

“Go ahead, put me down, woman. Like the rabid dog you think I am,” he said through clenched teeth.

 

She tried to pull her hand away, stunned at the direction this had gone, but he kept pressing the pen against his skin. She could already see a circle of red forming around the tip, lightly burning the fragile skin. Her hand trembled as she felt conflicted.

 

Did he _want_ her to hurt him or was he going to _hurt her_ and she would have no choice…?

 

He was so self-destructive that she wouldn’t put either past him.

 

“What are you waiting for? Did you want _me_ to press the button?” he spat.

 

The orderlies had already passed through the door, their tranquilizer guns ready… but they were confused at what was going on and from how they were standing, she was blocking a clear shot.

 

Bulma wasn’t sure what to do, what Vegeta was trying to prove. It was already distracting standing so close to him like this, adrenaline coursing through her.

 

“No, no, stand down,” Dr. Briefs exclaimed to the orderlies. He waved at the strange tableau Bulma and Vegeta found themselves in. “Young man, stop it this _instant_. No one here wants to hurt you. Least of all my daughter.”

 

“You’re _insane_ ,” Bulma shouted, still trying to pull her hand from his grip, her thumb determinedly away from the trigger. He pressed the pen closer for a moment, before he abruptly dropped her hand. Bulma faltered at the sudden release, massaging her wrist.

 

He narrowed his eyes at her and stepped back, saying nothing. But his expression was unimpressed.

 

“Hello, gentlemen,” Vegeta said, saluting the group of armed men like they were simply passing by. Dr. Briefs lifted his arms, placing himself between the orderlies and the deranged man they held.

 

“Everything’s fine. We simply had a small disagreement,” Dr. Briefs said, angling a look at Vegeta. “Right, young man? You will behave?”

 

He scoffed and flashed her a look, before he walked backward, his hands up in a mocking “surrender” gesture before he flopped down on his bed.

 

“We’re done here, team,” Dr. Briefs said, dismissing the orderlies who seemed utterly baffled. They probably thought _they_ were looney tunes! They were dealing with a deranged man and her father was _defending_ him! But as her father stared at them, clearly serious about the dismissal, they lowered their weapons and shuffled away — slowly, just in case they had to turn back around.

 

When they were gone, her father looked at her with crossed arms.

 

“Bulma? Will you also behave?” her father prompted. She gaped at him in disbelief.

 

“What? What did _I_ _do?!”_ Bulma exclaimed, waving her hand at the incomprehensible man on the bed who idly scratched the red mark on his neck, his expression unreadable. “He even admitted he was going to attack you!”

 

“People tend to behave the way you project them to behave,” her father said quietly. “I prefer to believe that he _thought_ of it and pulled back… because he knows that _I_ don’t pose a threat.”

 

“Your father and I are _best_ of friends,” Vegeta drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Right, _Boxa?_ ”

 

“I would like that to be so,” her father acknowledged, nodding.

 

She had stepped into the twilight zone.

 

“Yes, this is _totally_ normal. Being friends with a murderer and your daughter’s kidnapper,” Bulma spat. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

 

“Why not?” Vegeta said. “Same same.”

 

“ _We’re_ not psychopathic murdering kidnappers!” Bulma shot back angrily.

 

“The cognitive dissonance is astounding, don’t you think, Papa Briefs _?_ ” Vegeta said, angling a look at Dr. Briefs like she had just said something completely offside. Her father shifted on his feet uncomfortably.

 

“We’re not like _you_ at all!” Fucking manipulative monster. She was not going to fall for his word play.

 

Vegeta tapped his finger on his chin, pretending to think very hard. “Yes, because I willingly chose to be contained, _isolated_ and monitored for four weeks straight. Because I _scream_ exhibitionist. I so love the lack of privacy and knowing that you, your father, and god knows who else can watch me take a shit or a shower.”

 

Bulma reared back and he laughed, though it wasn’t a pleasant sound.

 

“I give _you_ permission, it’s okay, you’re both technically my doctors right now,” he said in a jovial tone, but there was a hint of steel. “Have I told either of you that being served mysterious pharmaceuticals that neuter my senses in the morning _day after day_ is such a joy? The same way you enjoyed it when I poured that glass of water down your throat, right, woman? The _one_ time?”

 

“ _Stop it_ , it’s not the same!” She knew what he was trying to do, but she was getting upset all the same. She couldn’t really refute anything he was trying to point out, but it was ludicrous to compare their _humane_ treatment of him to the terror and violence he wrought _._ They were scientists helping law enforcement! “Dad, tell him.”

 

To her shock, her father lowered his eyes to his feet.

 

“And I recall reading a really interesting _research paper_ recently,” Vegeta went on, rubbing his chin. Bulma felt her stomach drop. “Prototypes for children’s Christmas toys, right?”

 

“No. _No._ You’re not going to try to equate me with you,” Bulma said, shaking her head rapidly. She hated, though, that the last barb hit hard. She still felt incredibly conflicted and guilty over how she’d used her engineering prowess for destruction.

 

“We’re nowhere like you!” she repeated.

 

“Of course not,” the Prince said calmly. “Excellent argument, woman. You’ve convinced me.”

 

“All right, Vegeta, I think you’ve made your point,” Dr. Briefs said with a resigned sigh.

 

“I’m not going to listen to the ‘logic’ of a man who doesn’t understand what’s _real_ and what’s _not_ ,” Bulma shouted, incensed that he was just _sitting_ there cool as a cucumber. She was satisfied when the calm facade faded, fury flashing in his eyes _._

 

“At least I live in the _real world,_ ” Bulma added.

 

Vegeta surged to his feet. “Maybe I should _test_ whether—”

 

Dr. Briefs immediately shot between them, his hands raised. “ _Enough_. Stop this. This is completely unproductive, all this bickering! We are all on the _same_ side. The side against Frieza Kold. If there’s anything we can agree on, it’s that!”

 

Vegeta covered his mouth and shook his head.

 

“Let’s get something straight, old man,” Vegeta said quietly. “I’ve tolerated this dog and pony show for a while because it _amused_ me. Frieza Kold is a man I’d take absolute _pleasure_ ending. That’s the only reason this,” he waved around him, at them, “works the way it does right now.”

 

He crossed his arms. “But Kakarrot is another matter entirely.”

 

Drama queen, Bulma thought.

 

“Why don’t you tell us what your conflict with Mr. Korzen is, Vegeta?” Dr. Brief said, gesturing him to sit back down. He nodded toward the chicken wrap, completely forgotten on the table due to the chaos. “Perhaps over lunch? Then we can discuss next steps.”

 

“He’s in the building, isn’t he?” Vegeta said, his eye going to the door.

 

“Don’t even _think—”_ Bulma began.

 

“I would like to moderate a meeting, yes,” her father said, stunning her into silence. Vegeta mirrored her reaction. “But hopefully, when cooler heads have prevailed. I _will_ _lead_ you directly to Mr. Korzen, I promise you. When you’re _both_ civil and ready to talk like adults.”

 

“Dad!” Bulma exclaimed.

 

“I’m civil,” Vegeta said. “I’m adult.”

 

It was disconcerting the way he shifted his expression _just so_ , enough to make himself look _almost_ trustworthy.

 

“In due time,” Dr. Briefs said with a nod. “When you’re ready.”

 

“And you’ll be the one to determine that?” Vegeta drawled, and Bulma could already see him plotting a million and one ways to coerce her father—

 

“No. _Bulma_ will,” her father said.

 

At that, Bulma thought, _Got you, asshole!_ But the triumphant grin she flashed him faded a little when she saw the him raise his brows just enough to look _smug_. The rest of his face remained calm and neutral, probably as a show for her father.

 

But there was a _gleam_ in his eyes that Bulma didn’t miss.

 

He was going to do what it took to get in front of Kakarrot.

 

 _Well, shit._ She kept the smile pinned on her face despite her sudden misgivings about her father’s declaration.

 

“The plan was always to let you free, once you’ve stabilized. Bulma is a _great_ judge of character and a _great_ doctor,” her father went on, clearly catching the unspoken conversation they were having right now. “I’m not unrealistic. I don’t expect your meeting with Mr. Korzen will be pleasant and I don’t believe you will necessarily see eye-to-eye. But what I _do_ expect is maturity, respect and relative _peace_. I will _not_ tolerate violence on my watch. Do you understand, son?”

 

Vegeta said nothing, but he made an OK sign with his fingers.

 

That was when Bulma knew he must be _really pissed off_. He wanted to be on their good side right now and he was probably close to blurting something horrible out. They just told him his sworn enemy was practically down the hall. The same building no less.

 

He was probably already plotting.

 

“When Bulma believes you won’t try to escape or harm any person under Capsule Corp’s roof, not only will we take you to Mr. Korzen, we will set you _free_ ,” Dr. Briefs went on. Vegeta’s only reaction was to shift slightly on his bed.

 

She had a feeling that all the games Vegeta had been playing all month was going to be turned to 11. She knew they couldn’t hold the Prince forever, that eventually he would be convinced to take some sort of _bargain_ with the WCPD, for his current and future co-operation.

 

“I expect you on your best behavior. Even better than these past few weeks,” Dr. Briefs said, finally standing. “I think we’ve been very generous with you considering the circumstances. I have not forgotten what you’ve done to Bulma. This is _my daughter_. I won’t tolerate harm on her person.”

 

Bulma blinked. _Wow._

 

That was the closest thing to _threatening_ that her father ever sounded to her, even though his voice was light and easy.

 

“As you very succinctly pointed out, we are not too different, you and I,” her father said to impress the point further.

 

Vegeta didn’t seem at all offended by her father’s speech. In fact, his lips twitched, then he inclined his head as acknowledgement.

 

They turned to leave.

 

“One week,” Vegeta declared suddenly at their retreating backs.

 

Bulma gaped at him and laughed incredulously. “What?”

 

“One week. Then you’re going to hold my hand and walk me out of here yourself,” he said.

 

“Your enthusiasm is noted,” Bulma said dryly. “It’s going to take a little more than _bravado_ to convince me that you’re _mentally_ ready to meet the sworn enemy you’re already plotting to murder right under our nose.”

 

“The decision’s been made. We’re simply negotiating the time.”

 

Bulma felt a headache coming on.

 

The next few weeks were probably going to be really annoying.

 

.

.

.

 

 


	31. Chapter 31

Chi-Chi was stuck in a time loop.

 _  
_ Though, if it wasn’t for his face, he _could_ have been a different man. He kissed differently, like he had all the time in the world, savoring her mouth. Though he _tasted_ the same. He _touched_ differently — curiously, a little more _tentative_ , she supposed, while trying to learn (relearn?) her body.

 

It was a little baffling, to be honest.

 

His hands gradually grew firmer at her insistence, and she enjoyed seeing the flush that deepened across his cheeks. Despite that, he _felt_ the same… warm, solid, and as strong as ever. And it was _still_ thrilling to feel him harden against her when their kisses grew more urgent and she rubbed herself against his groin. It was arousing to feel his breath quicken against her skin when she guided a hand under her shirt. When she dared to palm his length over his sweatpants, he blinked at her with a strange mixture of surprise and pleasure.

 

She’d forgotten how powerful he felt beneath her hands.

 

She’d forgotten how powerful _she_ felt when she pulled these reactions from him.

 

She couldn’t help but compare: he was larger now, more muscular, definitely healthier. The last five years had been _kind_ to him.

 

Then his shirt was discarded and her fingers found the gunshot wound that started their entire whirlwind affair, making _no_ mistake who she was with.

 

This was definitely Kakarrot.

 

… _And yet, not._

 

Honestly, a part of her hadn’t been sure. If she was stuck in a time loop, maybe Goku was a doppelganger? But the rough patch of skin was there, faded a little over time, and she went a little mad at the realization that this was _real_ , he was _back, it really was him…_ Kakarrot nibbling her neck, her ear, and running his hands heatedly under her scrubs and the edge of her bra—

 

The reality that yes, _yes_ , _Kakarrot_ was really with her made her wild with lust. Her hands, lips and body started to move frantically against him. There was too much clothing between them, she’d deprived herself, she _needed_ to feel him, feel him now—

 

“I want you now, please,” she told him shakily. “Don’t be gentle.”

 

He lifted his head, his eyes glassy with desire. They barely started, most of her clothes was still on, but she didn’t care. She tugged at his waistband, but he didn’t stop her, and soon he was pulling her own pants down quickly, his hands shaking.

 

It wasn’t pretty.

 

There was nothing romantic, no swelling music, no beautiful words.

 

But he was inside her and the surge of pleasure she felt was otherworldly. Even though she hadn’t had sex in a while, she was so wet and ready there had been little resistance. The shock of him filling her to the hilt nearly made her fall apart then and there. She couldn’t help but throw her head back and gasp.

 

He gave a full-bodied shudder and nearly collapsed on her, clearly feeling the same way at their joined bodies. He pressed her hips down to stop her desperate movements.

 

“P-please, I need—I haven’t ever—” he rasped and she looked up to see his eyes wild and unfocused, and he almost looked… panicked.

 

A drop of sanity seeped in and she realized that no, she _wasn’t_ with Kakarrot.

 

She was with _Goku._

 

She stilled and watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Are you okay?”

 

He worked his jaw. “I feel like I’m about to have a heart attack.”

 

Well, that wasn’t good. She was being _selfish_ and Goku had been nothing but kind, willing to please.

 

“O-okay. Let’s… um...” She was still so _aroused_ but she didn’t want him to feel awful. This was turning sideways quickly! Definitely not Kakarrot. “W-we can… stop...”

 

He laughed quietly and kissed her lightly on the nose. “I… don’t _want_ to stop. I just… I think I need a moment, that’s all. How are you doing? How do _you_ feel?”

 

She was startled that he seemed to be more focused on how she was. She flushed and thought about the absurdity of having such a conversation and _he was still inside her._

 

“Good. _Great_ , actually,” she said in a strangled tone, laughing lightly. He nodded, kissed the tip of her nose again and nuzzled her lightly. God, Goku was affectionate and she _loved_ it.

 

“Good, good,” he said. He took a couple of steadying breaths and brushed her bangs back with one hand. Kakarrot did that, too, when he wanted her attention, to get her to look directly at him. “I think… maybe if we slow down a bit?”  


 

Chi-Chi nodded and he flashed her a sweet smile. His hips began to move _slowly._ She had to stop herself from bucking beneath him because it felt good, so _so_ good, but she wanted him to enjoy it, too. It didn’t take long before his thrusts started to be more sure, more confident.

 

She moaned and writhed beneath him, one hand running up his chest while the other dipped between her legs. His gaze darkened at her touching herself, between them, brushing against his length while he went in and out. She tried to temper herself, but _dammit_ it was hard to slow down when she felt like she wanted to sprint.

 

“Okay, I think I’m getting the hang of this,” he said with a crooked grin, as if sensing her impatience. “This feels really good actually.”

 

She touched his cheek with her free hand and flashed him her own grin. He kissed the inside of her palm in response. So affectionate…

 

She suddenly felt too hot. She struggled to remove her top because she didn’t want this delicious friction to stop. He chuckled at her antics and paused to help her tug the offending shirt off.

 

“Your boobs look better in real life,” he murmured with a small groan. She giggled slightly. That was a curious thing to say. But before she could ask, he adjusted their positioning so he could capture her lips and drag his body more completely against hers. His lips moved insistently, almost bruising and definitely heated; he was done following her lead. The way his tongue twined against hers, and how one hand snaked behind her neck to tilt her head the way _he_ wanted her to all but said, “My turn now.”

 

She was thrilled to feel this passion; when they started, he was definitely willing—but she could sense slight hesitancy, almost a _shyness_.

 

She was thrilled to feel his hand go behind her back to fiddle with the catch of her bra.

 

Soon the offending garment was gone and his large hand grasped her freed breast eagerly. He consumed her mouth again while his thrusts grew harder, more urgent. His other hand pressed her bum upwards to urge her to meet him deeper.

 

“Harder,” she whispered, her eyes screwed tightly shut in pleasure.

 

He growled at her soft command. “Look at me.”

 

_Kakarrot._

 

Her eyes flew open and met his. His eyes were sharp, concentrated. His next thrust was harder than the last, almost violent, but Chi-Chi felt such an intense twist in her belly, tension tightening.

 

“Is this what you want?” he demanded.

 

“Yes, oh god,” she whispered. “ _Yes.”_

 

He thrust harder, so hard her teeth rattled— but she loved it. Oh, god, it felt so good, it was always this good — _great_ — between them. _No one_ ever made her feel this way. It was true then, it was true now…!

 

“Yes, yes, _yes!”_ she wailed, bucking wantonly against him.

 

“Chi-Chi, _god_ ,” he husked. “This feels amazing.”

 

She’d already been close since it had been _so_ long since she had sex and every nerve felt like it was on fire. She could only hold back for so long. She moved against him wildly, her fingers and nails gaining purchase against his back. He grunted at her movements but didn’t tell her to stop, and neither did his urgent pounding.

 

He was blinking rapidly now, one of his _tells_ , and Chi-Chi grinned triumphantly.

 

“You want to come for me?” she murmured.

 

“I— Chi-Chi— this—” he stammered, his face flushed. He didn’t seem to have the words and she thought that maybe it was time to end his agony. During pregnancy, she learned the importance of Kegel exercises, and thought this was a prime time to use her knowledge.

 

She purposefully clenched around him and he jerked suddenly and gasped. She could feel him pulse inside her, his thrusts turning erratic, and she soon learned her Kegel movements could lead to the _other_ natural conclusion—

 

She screamed, stars blinking beneath her eyelids as the force of her orgasm hit her. He groaned in response, his forehead pressing against hers, his hot pants fanning her face, as they both rode through their release.

 

Suddenly, a desperate pounding against the door had them both stilling, their heads turning toward the noise.

 

“ _Mama, mama, are you okay? Daddy?! What’s going on?”_

 

Horror filled Chi-Chi as she saw the handle being jiggled.

 

Oh, my god.

 

 _Gohan_.

 

Goku’s shoulders began to shake — dear god, he was still inside her, _twitching_ even — but he was pressing his lips together so hard to stem the laughter taking over him. She smacked him and he only let out a small “ow” before pulling away from her and plopping onto his back.

 

His hands went to his mouth now to try to stop laughing, but it was no use. He was half snorting through his fingers at the absurdity of the situation, the afterglow, everything!

 

If she wasn’t so mortified, she probably would have laughed, too.

 

“Y-yes, Gohan, I just—uh, stubbed my toe! Yes, ow, my _toe._ I’m fine, I’m fine!” Chi-Chi exclaimed in a choked voice. She smacked Goku again to try to get him to stop laughing. “Goku, tell him.”

 

“Gohan, nothing to worry about!” he said, not even bothering to mask his laughter this time.

 

“ _Why is the door locked?!”_

 

“Oh, I guess it latched by accident!” Chi-Chi exclaimed sitting up to try to get her head back on straight. She was still feeling rather discombobulated, still buzzing from her orgasm, for god’s sake! She wanted to do nothing but cuddle and enjoy the aftershocks, but Gohan was _right outside the door._

 

This was insane. She was insane. How could she have lost her head like that and forgotten Gohan was there?

 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Goku murmured quietly, embracing her naked form from behind.

 

“To deal with our son,” she snapped though there wasn’t much heat and it was hard to be mad when he was nibbling on her ear and pressing warm kisses down her neck. His hands were crawling over her breasts again. Mm...

 

“ _Are we going home soon?”_

 

“Do you want to sleep over, Gohan?” Goku called before Chi-Chi could say anything.

 

“ _Sleepover?! Yay!”_ Gohan squealed. They heard him scramble away and she let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

 

Chi-Chi turned her head, slightly annoyed. “Why’d you say that?”

 

“Because… you want to sleep over, too, don’t you?” A small line had formed between his brows, his expression anxious. “I’m sorry. I should have asked you first.”

 

He looked vulnerable and unsure, pulling away slightly. Chi-Chi leaned back to stop him, her head dropping on his chest.

 

“You should have, but it’s okay. It’s late anyways. I’ll stay.”

 

To be honest, she was pleased he wanted her to. She just didn’t want to _assume..._

 

His eyes were wary, but he nodded all the same. “Okay.”

 

“What?” Chi-Chi asked, hating how his expression shuttered. It was one of the things she _hated_ about Kakarrot and Goku was doing it now.

 

Because he _was_ Kakarrot after all.

 

This entire amnesia thing was going to make _her_ loopy, she thought to herself.

 

“Nothing. Just _okay_ , I’m glad you’re staying,” he said, already standing. He pulled on his sweatpants but he was still avoiding her gaze. She frowned, confused at his suddenly distant behavior. He went to his closet and began to pull some of Gohan’s pajamas from a shelf. After a moment, he pulled a couple t-shirts from his own shelf as well.

 

“Gohan normally sleeps here when he stays over but I don’t think that’s appropriate right now,” he said calmly, his expression betraying nothing. Chi-Chi felt a little whiplash from the affectionate, laughing man she just had an intimate encounter with to this distant version of Goku that she saw outside of the bedroom, the one she thought hadn’t even noticed her.

 

He handed her one of his t-shirts while donning the other. “Here, that should be big enough for you. Gohan can sleep on the couch tonight, I think?”

 

Chi-Chi looked down at the shirt in her hands and stared at him, confused. Was he mad at her? Nothing he was saying was off-side, but he suddenly sounded faraway, detached.

 

She hated it.

 

“Go grab the shower,” he went on, gesturing to the door to the master bath. “I think there should be spare toiletries there. It’s the only shower in the place, but I think I can help Gohan with brushing his teeth and getting him ready to go to bed in the spare bathroom outside.”

 

Again, everything he was saying was calm, normal, expected. But she noticed the slight tenseness in his jaw. Something _shifted_ these past five minutes and she had no idea _what_.

 

She decided she was going to let him ready Gohan for bed in the living room and talk to him after they both said good-night to Gohan.

 

“Okay,” she said quietly with a nod.

 

He flashed her a small smile. “Okay, see you soon.”

 

.

.

.

 

Goku never felt more scrambled in his life. This probably ranked just below finding out his true identity, which had thrown him for a total loop.

 

Krillin _was_ right. Women _were_ baffling.

 

He tried to focus on being a father at the moment, brushing his teeth alongside Gohan who hummed happily. Gohan seemed really excited when he told him that Chi-Chi was _also_ sleeping over; apparently his son _also_ assumed that his mother wasn’t staying that night.

 

He was so confused. Grampy told him that when two people really cared about each other, they sometimes decided to share their bodies and it was the most intimate thing that two people could do. That it was _special._

 

Chi-Chi had haunted his dreams for so long, he thought that it would be similar when they finally joined together. He thought maybe he would be more prepared.

 

But what could have prepared him for this? How could he have known that one look, one touch could feel that way? How did one prepare for the absolute rush he felt when her lips were on him… her hands _everywhere?_ He had had no idea his body could feel and react that way…

 

 _Chi-Chi_ was special, obviously, and he cared about her, absolutely.

 

Didn’t she care about him, too?

 

He wasn’t so sure now. He felt like she was simply staying because he _assumed_ and then brought Gohan into the mix. He already knew that Chi-Chi was a marshmallow where their son was concerned but it… well, it _hurt_ to think that she didn’t want to stay because of _him_ , too.

 

He knew that city folk were different from islanders and that some of Grampy’s lessons didn’t apply to certain people. He knew that some people had sex just for fun, not because it was special, or that they cared for each other.

 

And that was fine. People were allowed to live the life they wanted.

 

Chi-Chi was allowed to want only sex, nothing more.

 

And he didn’t want to make her feel bad or obligated for more. He honestly wasn’t even sure what “more” meant. All he knew was that his chest hurt and hoped the tension would go away soon.

 

He would simply _deal_ with his feelings. And she _was_ still staying over, so there was that.

 

When Chi-Chi padded out in his shirt, fresh from the shower to greet them in the living room, his stomach tightened. She was _so beautiful._ He’d thought so from the moment they met (again), but after what they shared, it was if she practically glowed. He was suddenly hyper aware of every freckle, every curve, the way her lips glistened and how they felt against his. And of course, her breasts were _perfection…_ they fit nicely in his hands, full and lush.

 

He wondered how in the world he managed to be without Chi-Chi for so long. Especially now he knew what sex was like. Though, the thought of doing what he did with Chi-Chi with another woman left him cold. He didn’t want to do that with anyone else.

 

He trailed his eyes down to her bare, shapely legs, which had been wrapped around his waist just moments earlier... the tension in his stomach tightened further. There was something about her in his clothes that made him suddenly think:

 

 _Mine_.

 

He swallowed. He _wanted_ her again. Was that appropriate? Could they do it again? Would she want to? He wasn’t sure what was right or wrong regarding _this_.

 

God, he was so confused.

 

As usual, he thought self-deprecatingly.

 

“Hey, baby,” Chi-Chi said with a smile. “You ready for bed?”

 

Gohan nodded with a giant grin, “Yes, mama!”

 

Their boy jumped into her open arms, and though he was already _definitely_ large enough to walk the few steps to the couch, Chi-Chi carried him all the same.

 

“Are you and Daddy dating now?” Gohan asked frankly as they all walked to the couch, his eyes darting between them.

 

“Yes,” Chi-Chi said quickly, almost as if she was afraid that he was going to contradict Gohan. He wasn’t really sure what to _call_ their physical relationship but he supposed that was the most tactful way to phrase it to their young child.

 

Gohan’s expression turned sly and the tiny boy angled a gaze up at him. “So does that mean more sleepovers?”

 

Gohan was way too smart, he thought with amusement.

 

“Maybe,” Chi-Chi said, dropping him onto the couch where he’d already set up the spare pillow and blankets.

 

“Are you two going to get married?”

 

Goku struggled to keep his expression neutral. Gohan’s eyes were _right on him._ Chi-Chi didn’t bother to look back to see his reaction.  


 

“Remember our talk, Gohan,” Chi-Chi said, as if she’d anticipated this question. “What did I say?”

 

“We’re already a family,” Gohan mumbled, ducking his head. Chi-Chi nodded and kissed his forehead. Like the entire evening, Chi-Chi’s response confused him. But what had he expected her to say? He knew that marriage was serious, _permanent_ , and they were _still_ getting to know each other…

 

 _But you’ve known her all your life_ , something inside him said. He knew that to be true; he had fragmented memories of their interactions throughout the years in his dream-memories; enough to know that they’d crossed paths through childhood, even high school and college.

 

“No matter what, you are most important to us,” Goku said, honestly. “Your mom and I will always be _friends_ because of you, whether we’re dating or not. Do you understand?”

 

Gohan lifted the blanket over his mouth and nose so they could only see his eyes. “Yes.”

 

Chi-Chi looked up at him then, a smile on her face. She seemed grateful for his words. Gohan reached a hand out to him, clearly asking for _his_ good-night kiss. Goku flashed him a genuine grin and kissed the other side of his forehead. Gohan giggled and Goku’s heart swelled.

 

“Okay, sleep tight, kiddo,” Goku said. He felt Chi-Chi’s hand reach out for his when he stood.

 

As she twined her fingers with his, she looked up at him with such a soft look that his heart began to hammer in his chest. A little bit of his insecurity eased.

 

Maybe she _did_ care for him after all?

 

He hoped so. Why would she look at him like that if she didn’t?

  
_And if not,_ he thought determinedly, as they walked back to his bedroom, _I’m going to try my best to be the type of man she could care for._

 

.

.

.


	32. Chapter 32

Bulma couldn’t sleep.

 

After that last charged meeting with Vegeta, her father sat her down and told her he’d been deferring and delegating other Capsule Corporation tasks in favor of dealing with this Frieza situation. However, he couldn’t neglect the rest of their multi-national corporation for much longer.

 

Of course, Bulma immediately tried to assuage her father that she could deal with Vegeta on her own for a while. She felt… well, _comfortable_ wasn’t the right term, but she was up to the task of getting information out of the man, despite the recent drama.

 

When her father was satisfied at her answer, he _urged_ her to review his name well before their next meeting.

 

“ _Bulma, there are… the name ‘Vegeta’ is unique for various reasons,” her father explained to her. “There’d been rumors… Nothing ever substantiated, though.”_

 

“ _What rumors?” Bulma prodded with a frown._

 

“ _That his ‘Prince’ moniker isn’t simply a nickname.”_

 

With such an _outlandish_ declaration, Bulma had no choice but to spend the rest of the day doing some much-delayed research on the name “Vegeta Szlachta” — thank goodness for Google _suggestions_ since she mangled the spelling of the last name.

 

She expected to be taken aback somehow, shocked or horrified at what she found.

 

But the reasons were entirely unexpected.

 

Her mind was going a mile a minute: it couldn’t be true.

 

_It couldn’t._

 

This had to be another game, another manipulation, she thought wildly. It made no sense. Absolutely _zero_ sense.

 

This had to be another game.

 

It had to be.

 

There was _no way_ he could be a prince for _real!_

 

.

.

.

 

“Vegeta” began to rap his fingers against the white table, indicating he was beginning to get impatient, her silent staring annoying him. When she came to see him during the normal interrogation time, he was surprised to see her _alone_ if the slight widening of his eyes were any indication. Of course, he quickly schooled his expression back to normal.

 

She’d sauntered in, convinced that the documentary she saw (and couldn’t finish; she started watching it too late at night) could be easily explained away. But, seeing him again in _person_ made whatever carefully calibrated thoughts she had fly out of her head.

 

He looked _so much_ like the little boy…!

 

None of this made sense. _None_.

 

“Vegeta” scowled now, sighed and crossed his arms, which made her panic even more. The little child in the movie, whenever he was carted out in public, clearly didn’t enjoy the scrutiny and would adopt the same expression.

 

“You overestimate your looks,” he said finally.

 

Bulma snapped out of her reverie. “What?”

 

“You’re not as good looking as you think. Sitting here and staring at you is boring,” he told her evenly.

 

Bulma’s cheeks immediately flared, embarrassed and angry. Not that it _mattered_ , but she put some effort in her looks today — for _herself_ , of course. She’d literally been throwing on her doctor’s coat over t-shirt and jeans for weeks on end. She’d tried to look more _professional_ today in smart grey culottes, white button top and her red Gucci loafers.

 

She wanted to channel a bit more authority since she was going to face Vegeta alone.

 

“Liar. I’m the most interesting thing you’ve ever seen! Better than staring at _your_ ugly mug all day,” she snapped coolly.

 

“Was there a point to this visit?” he asked, waving to the air. “I’m about to change my opinion on who my favorite Dr. Briefs is.”

 

“God, get over yourself. I don’t give a shit if you like me or not,” she returned, praying for calm. She needed to stop obsessing over the mess she found the night before and focus on the situation at hand. She needed to get new info about Frieza from him, at least as much as her father was able to.

 

“Do you have anything to give me today?” she asked bluntly.

 

The Prince—Vegeta—god, she wasn’t sure what to call him. He was a liar. Anyway, _he_ leaned back on his chair and looked super annoyed.

 

“Seriously?” he drawled. Vegeta — fuck it, she was just going to use that name for now — shook his head and scoffed. “You are _really_ bad at this.”

 

“You give me something, I give you something,” she threw back at him.

 

He narrowed his eyes. “What _exactly_ are you giving me and what _exactly_ do you want?”

 

She counted to five and breathed in through her nose.

 

“I’m your key outta here. That should be enough,” she said evenly.

 

“How about I tell you what _I_ want and go from there?” he said, his mouth twitching. She clenched her fists. He was enjoying riling her up. “Unless you want this to be the first day you don’t have anything to give to the WCPD? One day without holding _daddy’s hand—_ ”

 

Bulma raised her hand sharply to stem his next words.

 

“Look here, I’m _not_ my dad. He’s been way too nice to you. I’m not going to sit here and pretend we’re _friends_. I’m in charge now and we’re going to play by _my_ rules,” she told him plainly, her tone resolute. She leaned over the table and gestured idly with her hand. “Which are simple: you tell me something and I won’t kick you in the balls.”

 

“Vulgar woman. No need for _violence_ for an excuse to touch me.”

 

Bulma sputtered a little at his calm rejoinder. He seemed completely unmoved at her rant.

 

“Can you stop? The weird… _flirting_ is not cute. It’s fucking creepy. _I don’t like you.”_ She clapped after each word. “Get that in your head.”

 

“Liar _,”_ he said, echoing her early words.

 

Bulma made a small noise at the back of her throat. This was an awkward argument that neither of them were going to back down.

 

“I’m _tired_. Just tell me what you want.”

 

He pursed his lips slightly, probably contemplating whether he should continue being an ass or be more straightforward.

 

“Four weeks out of the gym is making me soft,” he lamented finally, pinching non-existent fat on his sculpted arms

 

Straightforward it is, Bulma thought with slight relief.

 

Though, he must be joking about the _soft_ part. He still looked ridiculously carved from stone. “Weights would be nice. Kettlebells would suffice. Workout clothes, too. This jumpsuit isn’t really flexible. I’ve been making do with some bodyweight exercises but it’s not enough.”

 

She gaped at him silently, trying to gauge whether he was serious not. But his face betrayed nothing but sincerity.

 

“Four weeks ago you were half-dead with cracks on your hand, ribs and collar bone,” Bulma said, deciding to take his words at face value. He _did_ mention workout equipment the other day, too. “You even _refused_ treatment which probably slowed things down. Now you want me to hand over heavy equipment to toss around? To potentially re-injure yourself and _probably_ others?”

 

He didn’t like her response.

 

“I’m _fine_ ,” he practically growled. “You can have some grunt to pick the weights up at a set time each day. I’m _reasonable.”_

 

She lifted her right hand, opening and closing her fist, pointedly ignoring his rant. “Do this. Both hands.”

 

He seemed frustrated at her insistence, but lifted his hands all the same, opening and closing his fingers. She tried to keep her face professionally impassive, though inside she was doing a little jig. _Ha_.

 

“Okay, follow me,” she said calmly and started to press her fingers down, one by one, to touch her thumb, like she was playing the trumpet.

 

He huffed.

 

She raised her brows, checking to see if he was still paying attention, then made her hand into a fist. She waved her wrists up and down. Vegeta’s lips were in a tight line now, but he still mimicked her movements.

 

It did look like his hands were okay, she mused. Motor function fine. And frankly, the way he gripped her wrist the other day with his injured hand — might as well not have been injured. Still, she could notice a _very_ slight tremor and unevenness compared to his healthier hand.

 

A spark of impishness hit her and knowing that he was still mimicking her movements, she started to shake her fists like maracas. For a few moments, Vegeta followed through before realizing she was just egging him on now.

 

“ _Woman_ ,” he said with mild exasperation. “Are we done?”

 

“C’mon, loosen up. Give me your left hand.”

 

She didn’t wait for him to offer it, standing up to head to him so she could more carefully examine his limbs. She frowned slightly as she looked over the contrast of his hands. Well kept, manicured, but his knuckles and finger pads were rough. She concentrated as she examined the bones. His hands had received damage before. His fingers weren’t all completely straight. Still, his skin was beautiful, lightly tanned, and his hands were _strong…_ she wondered how it would feel if—

 

“So?”

 

His voice sounded soft, rough and Bulma realized she was standing rather _close_ to him. Jesus, his eyes were practically level with her chest.

 

She dropped his hand abruptly and cleared her throat.

 

“Your hand’s still healing. You can hold things but I don’t want you to push it. I’m going to give you lighter kettlebells to start and a squeeze ball to work with.”

 

He sighed and looked like he was about to argue, then thought better of it. “Fine.”

 

“How’re your ribs?” she asked. He lifted the arm over his injured side then flashed her a wolfish grin.

 

“You’re not going to examine my side with the same scrutiny as my hand?”

 

Bulma pressed her lips together. Dammit, he was right. _She should_. She had no problem when he was unconscious but he was staring at her with open amusement now. She schooled her features to gaze at him blandly.

 

“Of course I am. Unbutton your jumpsuit,” she said.

 

_Think boring thoughts. Porridge. Taxes. Dr. Norimaki going on about his stupid golf game…_ Bulma repeated to herself.

 

And of course he rolled his top down just like he always did, the way it looked in her dreams. She was a _professional_ , however. Who cared if his torso seemed like it was torn from the pages of an ideal male anatomy book?

 

“I enjoy being conscious for this,” he drawled as she placed her hands and patted the ridges on his injured side. She ignored him and focused on trying to feel for any abnormality. It was awkward standing over him so after a moment—there was a reason exam beds were elevated!—she ended up kneeling on the floor.

 

She ignored how his grin widened.

 

How he was _resisting_ making a comment about her on her knees she wasn’t sure… but she knew he was _thinking_ it. Which was enough, she supposed.

 

“Any of this hurt?” she asked coolly, pressing lightly on his firm skin, feeling for his ribs.

 

“No.”

 

She leaned in a bit closer to do the _real_ test, close enough that he had to spread his knees to allow her access. He seemed a little startled by that, his hand bracing himself against her upper arm as she pressed her palm against his side more firmly.

 

“How’s that?”

 

He winced _ever_ so slightly, hardly noticeable, but Bulma noticed. She was a sharp doctor after all.

 

“Okay.”

 

Which she knew in macho-ese meant “Sore, but I’ll pretend it isn’t.”

 

“You know when you were totally out of it, we actually had to re-crack your ribs because it was setting wrong. You could be further ahead if you weren’t so stupid and refused treatment,” she said waspishly, as if babbling could help her ignore the rapid thrum of her heart. He had _no right_ to be this attractive. Even though everything about this examination was textbook and clinical, it didn’t _feel_ that way…

 

“How’s it feel tending to the man you vowed to destroy?” his tone was light, teasing, but there seemed to be another _question_ there.

 

A question she wasn’t sure how to answer. She was still _infinitely_ angry at him, had not forgotten (or forgiven) what he’d done to her… or Chi-Chi and Gohan, for that matter.

 

But did she _hate_ him? Did she want to _destroy_ him?

 

It didn’t escape her notice that his hand remained on her arm. He didn’t seem contrite, per se… more resigned, like his actions were weighing on him but he wasn’t going to make any excuses for them, either.

 

“How do you know that’s not in the works?” she told him, her tone just as light.

 

She poked him a little with her fist on his injured side, though not enough to actually hurt him. “Maybe I’m getting you to drop your guard. How do you know I don’t have a scalpel hidden here?”

 

“Too messy, remember?”

 

Well, this was the darkest, weirdest flirtation she’d ever participated in the history of ever.

 

Bulma patted his collar bone next, checking to see if there was anything wrong there. He leaned slightly into her touch, the hand on her arm dropping to the side of her waist.

 

There was no reason for him to touch her person, but she didn’t move away or protest. He was so close she could feel his warm breath fanning the side of her cheek.

 

The hand resting on her side was relatively _innocent_ , but they were _both_ aware that he shouldn’t even be touching her in _any_ manner.

 

Despite herself, she felt her nipples harden under her bra.

 

Bulma abruptly dropped her hands and flashed him a tight smile.

 

“Okay, _your majesty,_ you’ll live. Take it easy when I get you your weights. You can put your top back on.”

 

She avoided his gaze as she got back to her feet as coolly and calmly as she could. When she sat back down, she noticed that he had ignored her suggestion and left his sculpted torso bare. It was _almost_ perfection — slightly marred with several light scars, like a map of his hard life.

 

She bit her tongue to ask the obvious questions as to how he got them, a mishmash of old and new lacerations she could tell. She tried not to care about the fact that it was proof that he _led_ a hard life.

 

He rested his left hand back on the table and drummed his fingers as she returned to her chair. The eyes that scanned her face was dark and inscrutable. Bulma dug her nails into her palms when she felt her stomach tighten.

 

_He is not good for you,_ she told herself sternly. _You are suffering from Stockholm symptoms._

 

“Kami needs to clean house,” Vegeta said suddenly. “Start with Guldo. That fat fuck is a low-level Ginyu force lackey but works for the WCPD, too.”

 

Bulma tried to hide the surprise and excitement in her face. He was going to start naming _moles?_

 

“ _I’m only willing to trade for physical rewards,”_ popped in her mind. She fought to keep her blush at bay. She only _examined_ him, nothing more.

 

But was that true? So why did she feel so hot and bothered right now? Why was he staring at her so intensely? Did he… feel the same way she did right now?

 

“Aren’t you going to write this down?” Vegeta asked softly when she did nothing but nod.

 

“Container 57220,” Bulma said flatly. He inclined his head.

 

“Right.” His voice was a light rumble.

 

“Anything else?” Bulma asked, her voice sharper than she intended. She needed to shift the mood of the room _fast_.

 

His brows rose higher. “Pushy.”

 

“Dad might be okay with crumbs, but _I’m_ not.”

 

“ _Crumbs?_ ” His tone dripped with disbelief. She waved at that. She knew it was a big deal, the mole reveal, but she wasn’t going to give him the _satisfaction_ of showing him she knew it was a big deal.

 

Despite his thoughts about her negotiating skills, she was still her father’s daughter. Her style was just _different._

 

She wanted to see how far she could push him.

 

“You’ll get your weights. Give me a list of other stuff you want. You know I’m good for it.”

 

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Are you?”

 

“Look, the faster you help us, the faster I don’t have to deal with your shit,” Bulma said, with a sickly sweet smile. “Or you with mine, for that matter.”

 

“Patience is a virtue, woman. You’ll get your info,” he returned easily.

 

Bulma snorted. “This from a man who goes from zero to _a hundred_ at the mere _mention_ of Kakarrot.”

 

Predictably, Vegeta’s expression darkened. He remained silent.

 

“Kakarrot, Kakarrot, Kakarrot,” Bulma repeated and looked around theatrically, like she had expected to conjure him up. He pressed his lips together, displeased with her antics.

 

“Nothing? Oh, so you _do_ take your own advice sometimes.”

 

“I think we’re done here,” he said, his voice clipped. He crossed his arms and scowled. Again, she was reminded of the petulant boy in the little of the documentary she saw.

 

He was acting like a child, too.

 

“You want to tell me what that drama’s all about?” Bulma asked calmly.

 

He pointedly looked away, his expression one of granite.

 

Ho-kay. He really _was_ that fucking sensitive over the Kakarrot situation. She tilted her head curiously. Yep. He was genuinely mad that she was even _teasing_ him about his arch nemesis. She knew now that her goal for this week was to finally get him to spill why he hated the doofus so much.

 

Was it because the guy was an undercover cop?

 

It seemed even more _personal_ than that. He said as much when he first captured her.

 

When several minutes passed in silence, Bulma decided that he really was in no mood to talk now. She pushed him a little too far with bringing up Kakarrot and mocking him over it. Good to know.

 

“All righty, well, see ya tomorrow, I guess,” Bulma said, standing. He didn’t react.

 

Bulma kept her expression neutral but noted that Vegeta was showcasing how stubborn he could be. He _was_ silent for days after they captured him; only breaking his silence after that first evening visit. He was making a point now that he could easily slip back into old habits.

 

She stifled a sigh.

 

Two steps forward, one step back.

 

.

.

.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Such Plot. So Setup. Our characters are going to come to a head very soon.

_At a secure Capsule Corp conference room..._

 

“What’s up with you?” Piccolo asked, sounding really annoyed. Then again, he always sounded annoyed. It didn’t really bother Goku anymore. Actually, he was in too good of a mood to really be bothered by _anything_ at all.

 

Goku shrugged easily, the smile that was probably bothering Piccolo still on his face. He supposed it was rather odd for him to be grinning so widely while they were building a web of connections of Frieza’s victims to find a pattern.

 

Probably really off-side to be humming a little as he labelled which was considered a Saiyan hit vs. another sub-group called the Ginyu Force. They were trying to figure out why and when one was deployed, if there was a rhyme or reason.

 

From the little they gathered, the Saiyans were sent out if a higher profile death and stealth was necessary. Their victims were harder to pinpoint; harder to associate with _anyone_. Clean. No unnecessary trauma to the victims.

 

Two shots in the chest, one in the head was a common theme. Not always the case — there were some violent deaths that they concluded were still Saiyan-related —but in a twisted way, most deaths seemed _merciful._ Swift.

 

But then there were inexplicable deaths, attributed to “natural causes” that were clearly not. Heart attacks, seizures. Poison? Hard to detect. Meant to be swept away undetected. But considering these deaths tended to be highly guarded public figures — lawyers, law enforcement, politicians — it had Frieza’s fingerprints all over it.

 

Goku suspected those were Saiyan-related, too. Again, hard to say, since the pattern for that was less obvious, especially if stealth was necessary.

 

In comparison, there _were_ a few… _bombastic_ murders. Mutilation, evidence of torture. Those victims often made the news; Goku and Piccolo began to conclude that Ginyu was deployed when Frieza wanted to make a _public_ statement, to scare someone. To flex muscle.

 

They’d received a major tip from an informant the identity of a Ginyu Force member and it was only a matter of time before they could identify the rest. There’d been a lot of crazy leads the past few weeks actually: the biggest tips being a weapons stronghold, a doctor from Wukong revealed to be Frieza’s _primary physician_ , and now, a _mole_ at the WCPD. Goku wondered what was in the water; from the state of their current evidence room, the Frieza investigation had been stalled for _years_ and now there seemed to be something new to work with _every day_.

 

Who the heck was this informant?

 

Progress on Frieza’s case was snowballing. Sure, he and Piccolo had made pretty good leeway in organizing all his past work, but they wouldn’t have gotten that far with them if it weren’t for the recent _leads._

 

Still, the leads were _corroborated_ by the evidence that he’d gathered years ago. They were used to help clarify the pieces of information given to them, and give context.

 

One of his old notes mentioned the weapons hold was mostly a stockpile of military-grade arsenal to sell to the highest bidder. National _and_ international, which made this Frieza thing even bigger than West City.

 

“Which was why I asked if you got taken by the CIA or FBI,” Piccolo had explained. “Wouldn’t make any sense for you to _disappear…_ but I wouldn’t put it past the feds.”

 

So, that was something at least.

 

The Dr. Malaka reveal was a little more complicated. He was a respected doctor at Wukong Hospital and an otherwise upstanding citizen. So far, they really couldn’t _do_ much with that information. One of his old notes blared: “AVOID WUKONG” in giant _red_ caps, which told him that he knew there were Frieza contacts inside. They couldn’t find Dr. Malaka’s name anywhere in this past correspondence, however, so they posited that Goku hadn’t yet found out the identities when he made those notes.

 

The Wukong warnings alongside knowing Frieza agents were stationed at the hospital _really_ alarmed Goku — _Chi-Chi_ worked there. If anyone _knew_ they were — _are —_ involved _…_ Though, as far as Piccolo and Kami knew, his little stint on TV had been buried. No one had commented or mentioned the name _Kakarrot_ or _Korzen_ in their various contact channels.

 

Piccolo told him that he checked on Chi-Chi when he did his normal round of questioning at the ER and to stop “fucking worrying.” No one would be surprised to see Piccolo at the hospital since questionable sorts always ended up on Chi-Chi’s floor, so it was like hitting two birds with one stone.

 

Chi-Chi managed to live a life and work at Wukong over the years without issue, Goku was aware, but it felt _different_ now. She was the mother of his child. She was his… _girlfriend_ (again?), he supposed. He still had to talk to her about that.

 

She meant a lot to him.

 

She made him happy.

 

He sighed and shook his head, trying to focus on the task at hand. He shuffled a few more folders and took out an angry photo of some red-headed giant, pinning it on the cork board.

 

“Fucking looney tunes...” he heard Piccolo mumble beneath his breath, clearly still disturbed by his jovial expressions and random noises.

 

Goku didn’t care.

 

He couldn’t recall a time ever feeling so full, so content and relaxed. When Chi-Chi’s body curved into his as their hearts slowed — no interruptions the second time they shared their bodies — their eyes met and she gave him such a look of… well, he really didn’t know what to name it.

 

He wasn’t great with words, with descriptions.

 

All he knew was that he wanted to promise her the world.

 

“Strangulation is normally, what… a Saiyan or Ginyu thing again?” Goku asked cheerfully as he pulled another victim’s file out.

 

Piccolo gaped at him.

 

.

.

.

 

_On the other side of Capsule Corp…_

 

 

“Where in the world is the lost Saiyan Prince?”

 

Bulma clamped her hand over her mouth in utter disbelief. The woman on the screen, a fierce looking reporter named Fasha Ziele, gestured as she continued her story about the massacre at Saiya, a royal family being _slaughtered,_ and an entire palace engulfed in flames.

 

Bulma had finally finished (and rewatched) the documentary she found which outlined the fall of Saiya some thirty odd years ago. It was a small principality in Eastern Europe, one of the few kingdoms that remained after the World Wars and country unification, much like Monaco.

 

Bulma considered herself well-versed in general local _and_ international affairs, but this tragedy happened thirty-odd years ago. She would have been four years old! While educated, her knowledge on shifting European borders and alliances were mostly what she learned about the major Axis and Allied powers during the world wars.

 

Still, her follow-up research showed that Saiya, indeed, had been a real place. _Saiyans_ were real people, not just the weird name of a group of assassins.

 

And the more she watched the documentary, the more she researched and read, the harder and harder it was for her to dismiss—

 

“No,” Bulma said aloud, pressing stop on the laptop. “He stole the kid’s identity.”

 

She nodded. _Yes,_ that made sense. Criminals stole dead people’s info all the time.

 

 _Hell_ , wasn’t that _exactly_ what Kakarrot did? Take on some dead dude’s name? Though he _still_ weirdly wanted to be called Goku these days.

 

And it would make sense for someone trying to take someone’s identity to choose someone they _physically_ resembled. Even though the last known photos of Prince Vegeta Szlachta III was at five-years-old, he had the same hairline, same scowl, same jaw—

 

She sighed and gnawed on her lip. “Is it _plausible_ that he stole a missing child’s identity? Sure. But does it make sense for him to get his men, who _seem_ to have matching physical traits, to take on a dead _ethnicity?_ It’s like telling someone I’m Chinese for the hell of it.”

 

God, it just didn’t make any _sense_.

 

But why would he work for Frieza? Hell, for _anyone_ for that matter. He should be dating super models and crashing super cars and getting _super_ sued. Not killing people for _hire_.

 

She wanted to get to the bottom of his hatred of Kakarrot this week, but this identity thing seemed more pressing.

 

There _must_ be a logical explanation.

 

It was why Bulma immediately sent a sample of their captive’s blood for DNA analysis — she was going to cross-check his origins plus see if she could find it in any database (criminal or otherwise). There had yet to be a network she couldn’t hack; one of the first things she did when she got hired at Wukong was to break into their systems (for fun; and so far, no one seemed to know she did).

 

Still, the most definitive proof _would_ be DNA matching against a known royal Saiyan. But based on the documentary, not only was the family slaughtered, their remains were incinerated in the blaze.

 

There had to be _something_ , somewhere. Maybe an artifact in a museum? Or some remains of some relative buried outside royal grounds? All she needed was a skull, some tuft of hair. Maybe it would be a degraded sample, but it would be enough. Maybe a birth certificate somewhere, medical record of this Vegeta III.

 

And yet, as Bulma put her laptop away and readied herself for their interrogation meeting, she wondered about the complications of stealing _this_ particular identity. Yes, criminals chose identities of fallen people all the time, but this was a rather _outlandish_ , rather _public_ dead person.

 

Kakarrot chose to take on the identity of some random island guy he befriended. _That_ made more sense. Someone no one really knew or would care to verify. Someone hard to pinpoint but nondescript when they did.

 

And if she learned _anything_ these past few weeks about the man in their clear cage, it was that he was _smart_. He was thoughtful and deliberate about his actions. Taking on such a ludicrous identity wouldn’t be a smart move.

 

He also carefully guarded his identity. He didn’t _want_ people to know he was “Vegeta Szlachta.” Only ten people in the past decade knew that name was attached to him…

 

Bulma grimaced when she slipped on a cashmere sweater.

 

And she was _one_ of the ten. What did that _mean?_

 

“Nothing,” she told herself angrily. Why was she still obsessing over what he thought of her? “It means not a _goddamn_ thing _.”_

 

With that last, sharp thought in her mind, she glanced at the mirror and nodded coolly at her reflection.

 

In the end, science will save her, Bulma thought. Like it always did. There were a lot of options to explore to discredit what their captive was insinuating with his _fake name_.

 

Time to get information.

 

.

.

.

 

_Capsule Corp conference room…_

 

Piccolo and Goku leaned back and stared at their cork board of photos, notes and strings. Goku tilted his head and looked at the map on the other board they set up with pins indicating known and _suspected_ Frieza locations — each were color coded based on its _legality_. The Kolds ran legitimate businesses after all, mostly focused on real estate. Many of the people in these businesses were _real_ employees, none of whom were criminals at all, like regular estate agents and secretaries and such.

 

But, they started to note a pattern of places their informant was giving them.

 

The Kold’s less savory locations were ones _directly adjacent_ to legal, legitimate properties.

 

“It would make sense,” Piccolo began. “For them to keep them close. Ballsy. They probably switch depending if they suspect a raid. Easier to do if the fucking office is across the street.”

 

“They really like operating out in the open, don’t they?” Goku murmured. Throughout this entire month, Goku became more and more aware that the Kolds were _not_ shy about their nefarious activities.

 

They’d publicly deny any wrongdoing of course, but their lawyer, that Zarbon Rèptil was a _snake_ — he knew the law like the back of his hand and twisted every legal interpretation of activity to the Kold’s benefit. He wielded lawsuits like a sword and was definitely a main reason the Kolds had yet to be brought to justice. It was why the WCPD had to be very careful on building a solid case with irrefutable evidence.

 

“You’d think that they’d get caught with their pants down with all the trouble they make, but Frieza knows how to cover his tracks,” Piccolo said heavily.

 

They fell silent as they regarded the evidence before them. Something was niggling the back of Goku’s mind as he stared at some of the evidence he’d procured years ago, the informant’s current leads, and the boards in front of them. It started to—

 

“I feel like our informant isn’t sending us information as randomly as we think,” Goku said finally. The taller man angled him a curious look, and for once, it wasn’t filled with disdain.

 

“What do you see?” Piccolo prodded.

 

“The docks. That was when you guys recorded a shipment of artillery, right? And after that, we get a place where that artillery is being held the _same day_ we find out about Dr. Malaka… which, I know so far has nothing do with anything. A few more addresses. And then the big one about a Ginyu Force mole.”

 

Piccolo frowned. “Yeah. Still seems pretty random? The only thing connected were the weapons and the hold.”

 

Goku shifted in his feet, his mind racing as he tried to connect the dots. “What if it’s _all_ connected? Dr. Malaka and that Guldo guy are somehow related to the supply chain. And all these other places that the informant’s been sending us… I bet if we dive deeper they’re related to these weapons, too. Maybe not a stockpile but maybe _someone_ in them…?”

 

“Jesus,” Piccolo murmured.

 

“You don’t think so?” Goku asked.

 

“No, no, maybe you’re right,” Piccolo said as he leaned forward and squinted at the boards before him. “We need to do a deeper background check on Dr. Malaka and Guldo. See what the hell is going on here. How they could be a part of this chain.”

 

Goku nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, we already have a brief report here. We should re-review them, see if we missed anything obvious first.”

 

Piccolo hummed and nodded.

 

“Good thinking, Korzen,” Piccolo said and Goku was pleased not to detect an iota of sarcasm in his tone. He was starting to feel more comfortable as a cop as time passed.

 

“Thanks. But we wouldn’t be anywhere near this without this informant of ours,” Goku said, matter-of-factly. He crossed his arms and raised his brows at the sergeant. “Any reason why I don’t get to know his identity? How would I compromise things when people don’t even know I’m alive?”

 

Piccolo’s lips thinned. “How are you feeling?”

 

Goku didn’t expect that question. “Um, great.”

 

“Do you remember what happened at the docks? When you were one-on-one with the Prince, I mean.”

 

Goku tried to keep his expression even. It still upset him to think about that, especially because of the outcome. He didn’t want to think he was responsible for anyone’s death, but if he focused on the fact that it was to _protect_ everyone, the pain lessened a little bit. There wasn’t anything he could do about it now.

 

“A little, I guess. I mean… I remember...” Goku shrugged helplessly, clenching and unclenching his fists. He remembered the feeling of rage and helplessness, and unleashing an incredible amount of violence he had no idea he was capable. He wasn’t sure there was much to remember really, beyond that. Lives were at stake, he panicked and something came over him—

 

“Okay, so you remember _enough,”_ Piccolo broke in. Piccolo had briefly explained that he’d been incoherent and had to be pulled off the man, that he was probably running on adrenaline and not much else since he, too, was battered and near death.

 

“Why are you bringing that up?” Goku asked tightly, dread already tightening in his belly.

 

Piccolo looked at him quietly for a few beats before nodding slowly, clearly coming to a decision.

 

“Because he’s alive.”

 

Goku felt his hands go cold. “Excuse me?”

 

“You beat the crap out of him. It was touch and go for a while. But like you, he survived. _The Prince_ survived,” Piccolo emphasized.

 

Goku’s mind went blank.

  
Then all at once: _Chi-Chi, Gohan, oh god, that monster was going to hurt—!_

 

Goku’s head snapped back when he felt the sharp sting of Piccolo’s palm across his face.

 

“Snap out of it! You’re not going to go on another violent rampage. Everyone’s fine. It’s been fine for this _entire month_. Look around you,” Piccolo exclaimed at their evidence room. “You said _yourself_ that without this informant — without The Prince — we wouldn’t have gone this far.”

 

Goku’s hands shook as they rose to his hair. All he could think of was that the Prince promised to destroy his happiness, that he’d gotten _close_ , that he knew how to get to his son, his _woman—_

 

“He’s _contained_ ,” Piccolo barked harshly. “We’ve managed to convince him to co-operate. But judging from your panic attack, it was a good idea to keep the lid on that for a while.”

 

“H-how… how _could_ you...” Goku got out, his fists clenching. Piccolo glanced down at his shaking hands and met his eyes coldly.

 

“What? You want to punch me?”

 

Goku forcibly relaxed his fingers. _No._ He was better than this.

 

“ _Think,_ Korzen. You’re a _cop._ He’s an _asset_. We needed him. You said so yourself five minutes ago,” Piccolo pointed out harshly. “Get a _fucking_ grip.”

 

Goku was furious, but a little bit of what Piccolo mentioned resonated. He closed his eyes briefly and purposely drew in a slow breath.

 

“Why would he help us?” Goku asked and was happy to hear his voice was calm, even.

 

Piccolo ran a hand over his face. “Even though he worked for Frieza, he seems to hate the guy. That seems to be the gist. Dr. Briefs thinks it’s because they’ve convinced him that Capsule Corp is capable of eliminating Frieza with his help.”

 

Goku sputtered. “Dr. Briefs…?”

 

Piccolo looked heavenward. “Yes.”

 

Goku took another slow, deliberate breath. He felt so _betrayed._

 

“Who else knows?”

 

“Everyone but you and the nurse, for obvious reasons,” Piccolo said flatly.

 

That meant _Kami…_ which, of course, he was the captain. Goku’s lips parted when the implication of “everyone” made itself clear.

 

“Even _Bulma Briefs?_ ” he gasped. Piccolo snorted.

 

“She’s the one _spearheading_ this shit right now,” Piccolo pointed out in a very judgmental tone, shocking Goku. “So if _she’s_ able to handle the asshole, _you_ should be able to deal.”

 

Goku’s hand went to his mouth. He had no idea what to say. He’d been nothing but co-operative to Piccolo and Kami and they’d _lied_ to him. But if Bulma Briefs was helping them out… somehow also _interacting_ with the Prince… and he _had_ been giving them helpful info…?

 

“All right, it looks like you need a few moments,” Piccolo said finally, which Goku found was probably the extent of his empathy. “I’m going to get a coffee.”

 

“Where is he?” he asked tightly.

 

Piccolo’s hand paused on the door handle.

 

“Where do you think?”

 

.

.

.

 


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta's back story: part 1

Vegeta clearly preferred his new clothes, deciding to don the black tank top with the CC logo prominently displayed across his chest, warping it mildly. She made a mental note to make sure to get him a _larger_ size — there was no need for it to be stretched out like that, basically making the top a second skin. To finish the casual look were grey drawstring sweatpants that draped nicely against his hips.

 

His old jumpsuit was neatly folded by the exit, next to what looked to be an identical copy of his current outfit with a kettlebell on top of that. They usually gave him two copies of clothing to rotate through every other day. His clean jumpsuit was folded at the foot of his bed.

 

Bulma watched as he leaned back against the wall on his bed, both knees drawn up to prop up a book on one knee, while his other hand squeezed a purple CC stress ball over the other knee.

 

It was a startling tableau — he looked _younger_ in this getup, like a studious college student, relaxed. Though Bulma couldn’t help noticing the muscles on his arm rippling as he idly squeezed the stress ball with his left hand.

 

He was reading _The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks_ , another curious selection from her father. It was starting to annoy her a little, actually, that her father seemed to be having some sort of _private conversation_ with the Prince; which was so absurd, she knew, since he did the _same thing_ with her using morse code.

 

He was such a pretentious smart-ass.

 

She wasn’t sure what to make of these deliberate book choices, because they _must_ be deliberate. On the surface, the books her father had given to their captive seemed to be obvious choices at first glance, but now it felt like there was _more_ there.

  
She’d bought a copy of _Hidden Power_ and learned that it wasn’t just _any_ true crime book — it was a deep analysis of how organized crime affected politics, business and society. _Henrietta Lacks_ wasn’t just a story about how a cluster of cells provided the basis of multiple medical breakthroughs: it was a story of exploitation, how one woman’s life — her identity — was essentially forgotten, despite how crucial her body was for science.

 

It made her realize her father had taken the _speculation_ about the Prince’s nickname to heart. There wasn’t a smidge of evidence — not yet — but with the choice of books, it was clear where her father stood regarding the rumors.

 

Her father believed he was a real prince. _The_ missing prince.

 

Regardless, Bulma told herself, stubbornly. Science would offer proof. It didn’t matter what _she_ or her dad believed.

 

Truth didn’t care.

 

She was early as it was lunch time. Her father normally joined him for lunch and she’d originally ignored that in favor of the usual interrogation time. Lunch felt too… personal. But, since her plan was to get into more _personal_ mysteries than Frieza-related items, it only made sense to _try_ to be more personable.

 

She almost knocked at the sliding door, her fist hovering over the door as she stared at it in slight confusion. She wasn’t here on a _social_ call, asking to go inside a boy’s dorm!

 

God, what she would do for a full night’s sleep…

 

She squared her shoulders, reminding herself of the point of her visit. Figure out how deep this Prince thing went, and maybe get some info about this entire Kakarrot feud.

 

The door swished open. He didn’t even bother looking up from the book.

 

“Tell the woman I prefer this garb to the ill-fitting uniform you’ve originally provided,” he said imperiously, his head still focused on the book.

 

She blinked and realized that he thought she was an orderly to pick up his laundry and drop off his lunch.

 

“Noted,” she said, lifting the bagged lunch and walking toward the white table they normally spoke across. He lowered the book abruptly, his sharp eyes narrowing at her approach. He arched his head toward the digital display of time projected on the wall.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

“I’m early, I know,” she said breezily, unpacking the paper bag.

  
She also knew this was the first time he’d really worked out and hadn’t eaten anything so he _must_ be hungry. So he would have really no choice but to join her. She asked her mom to prepare something protein and carb heavy to suit.

 

Fried chicken with creamy coleslaw alongside homemade buns. Bulma knew it was probably going straight to her ass, but dang, she was going to enjoy this.

 

She saw his expression turn wary at the spread in front of him. It was probably the most extravagant of the meals they’d served him; which were tasty since Mom made them, but were decidedly _healthier_ for recovery purposes.

 

“You better get here. I know I look like a dainty little thing,” Bulma drawled, “but I can pack _all_ of this away.”

 

She could tell her suddenly friendly attitude threw him off his game. Well, if _he_ could act like Jekyll and Hyde, so could she.

 

“I believe you,” he said evenly, tilting his head to clearly check her hips.

 

Bulma’s eye twitched. He was obliquely calling her fat. She wasn’t going to rise to the bait. So, she shrugged and maybe she pierced her coleslaw a little more forcefully than normal. Still, she started to eat her lunch as if this was just a normal, everyday thing, as opposed to the most fucked up situation she’d ever willing participated in.

 

He shrugged and leaned back against the wall, clearly ignoring her to return to the book and squeeze that goddamn stress ball.

 

Bulma’s fingers tightened around her fork. Oh, he was really trying her patience right now, but she was _so_ not going to fall for this obvious shit. He liked to take his goddamn time, just like the first time she saw him at night alone. She hated that it really _did_ get to her, but knowing that was his _modus operandi_ had her even _more_ staunchly determined to stick to her guns.

 

When _she_ played games, she played to _win_.

 

She pulled out the surprise treat from the paper bag that she _hoped_ would entice a guy like him. It enticed _most_ men.

 

She hummed and made a show of popping the cap from the bottle at the edge of the table — a little trick she learned from her fellow engineers at college — and then did the same to _another_ bottle. He didn’t say anything but he did lift his eyes from his book.

 

She smiled and pushed the bottle of European beer to his side of the table.

 

“Really? Alcohol?” he said. He rubbed his non-existent belly and she tried not to think too much about the ridges hidden under his black tank.

 

She shrugged and took a generous gulp from her own bottle. “Tastes great with fried chicken.”

 

“All this is medically sound?” he drawled, unable to hide the amusement from his voice. Bulma’s stomach tightened at his tone, the way his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners.

 

Even though she started this off as a manipulation exercise, being _nice_ to him was having unexpected results in how she felt when he actually _responded well_ to it. He wasn’t supposed to be _this_ pleasant.

 

Dammit, he might even be _cute_.

 

“Fuck no. You already took your meds this morning, right? So no contraindications.”

 

He bent the edge of a page in the book and laid it down beside him.

 

“Why’re you trying to get me drunk and sleepy?”

 

“If you can get drunk off of _one_ beer, your supposed ethnic origin is really in doubt,” Bulma shot back quickly, then bit her lip just as fast.

 

That was borderline offensive.

 

However, he actually seemed delighted at her quip, a corner of his mouth lifting.

 

“Finally learned how to use Google, hm?”

 

“The internet is full of crazy shit,” Bulma said firmly, taking another sip of her beer.

 

He nodded slowly, his gaze turning, assessing. Finally, he got up from the bed. Just when she thought he was going to sit and join her, he simply plucked the other beer bottle from the table, and then sat back down at the edge of his bed.

 

“What do you make of it?” he asked finally, after taking a swig of beer. He looked at the label — it was German, with a caricature of a monk in front — and inclined his head to show he didn’t mind it.

 

“Well, it’s pretty sad to take on a dead kid’s identity,” Bulma said carefully, keeping his steady gaze.

 

At that, he threw his head back and covered his face for a moment with his free hand before staring at her in _open_ amusement now. “Wow. So. That’s _more_ believable to you? Sure. Okay. Let’s go with that.”

 

She glared at him. “There’s no _way_ in hell—”

 

“You’re right, you got me,” he interrupted, raising his beer. “Stolen identity. I told you someone else’s name on my death bed because… why, exactly? Enlighten me.”

 

God, why did every conversation with him turn dark?

 

Oh, right. She was dealing with a crazed _assassin_.

 

“Why don’t _you_ enlighten me? Why the hell would you tell _me_ anything real?” Bulma shot back.

 

Somehow, her question seemed to make him sad. His eyes had that strange look again, the one she recognized at Wukong…

 

“Dying men aren’t in their right minds,” he said finally, then took several heavy swallows of his beer.

 

“You really should come eat lunch,” she said abruptly, not liking how quickly he put that alcohol away. This was supposed to be an _icebreaker_ , not… whatever this ended up turning.

 

“I’m not hungry,” he said. Almost on cue, his stomach made a gurgling sound, contradicting his words.

 

Bulma hated how worried she suddenly was. She got up from her seat and snatched the beer bottle away from his grip.

 

“No more of this until you get food in your stomach,” she snapped, lifting the beer away from his reach. She tried to put her fiercest expression to try to provoke him, but all he did was shake his head.

 

“Fine,” he said, his voice clipped. He shot her such resentful expression that Bulma reared back slightly.

 

Bulma was confused as she walked steadily back to her seat. She had the weird feeling that she… hurt his feelings somehow. He sat down and picked up a drumstick and ate like nothing had passed. He was well practiced at the art of nonchalance, but Bulma couldn’t stop the feeling that she’d said or done something wrong.

 

Bulma closed her eyes briefly. That wasn’t her problem. _He_ was the one with issues. Still, he was silent and she didn’t want a repeat of the end of their conversation from yesterday, where he completely shut down.

 

“You’re mad at me,” she stated as she took her seat and placed his beer beside hers.

 

He said nothing.

 

The silent treatment while eating a meal was too much like what she’d done and had been subject to with past boyfriends and it was _freaking her out_.

 

“This is stupid,” Bulma burst out. “Much as I like pissing you off, most of that is on purpose. I don’t like doing it by accident. Just tell me what’s up your craw.”

 

For someone eating fried chicken and coleslaw, he was doing a great job being rather dignified about it. He glared at her for a few beats before he dabbed his lips with a fresh napkin.

 

“Why do you think I stole… It’s actually _less_ logical,” he said, throwing the napkin onto the table rather forcefully.

 

Bulma let out a nervous laugh. She didn’t expect him to actually _claim_ it as the truth outright.

 

“You are a criminal,” she said bluntly. “And a megalomaniac. Getting people to _worship_ you —”

 

He barked out a laugh. “If that were true, I wouldn’t _be here._ ”

 

She leaned back on her chair, crossing her arms. That gave her the perfect opportunity to ask the one question that had been bugging her this _entire_ time. “Let’s talk about that. Why _are_ you here?”

 

He lifted a brow.

 

“I mean… in general,” Bulma said. She pursed her lips and thought about how to phrase her next words without adding to his over-inflated ego. She sighed when she realized there really wasn’t a way to avoid it.

 

“You’re _smart_. You could be doing so much more. _Be_ more. Why lower yourself and…?” she shrugged helplessly. Sure, he had some mental health issues, but all that could be _managed,_ especially since he was _clearly_ well-versed in routine, discipline and self-control (barring the Kakarrot situation).

 

He took _care_ of himself physically, was clearly well-read, well-traveled…

 

He could’ve been on the _other_ side of the law, if he loved guns and the chase so much. Or a lawyer? Maybe a business man with how he enjoyed getting people to bend to his will. There were so many possibilities. None of them leading to a life of crime!

 

“Hm.” He rapped his fingers on the table in a gesture that Bulma realized was him _parsing_ his thoughts. He didn’t just communicate with taps; it was his way to release his mental energy. He was considering her question seriously but it was clear there was… a barrier here.

 

He didn’t trust her.

 

Which, strangely, kinda hurt.

 

Bulma sighed and rubbed her brow. “Look. I’m willing to listen. No bullshit.”

 

She met his gaze evenly, hoping he could read the sincerity in her expression.

 

After a moment, his lips thinned into a straight line.

 

“No, you’re not.”

 

Oh, god, this wasn’t about the _prince_ thing was it?!

 

Bulma threw her hands up in the air. “You can’t _possibly_ expect me to believe what I read and watched on the internet! I’m a goddamn _scientist_. All I have is your… stupid face. And media shots of a five-year-old. How’s that conclusive in _any_ way?! _”_

 

He let out a string of words that Bulma had no idea how to parse—she knew the romantic languages, a little bit of conversational Japanese and some _Urdu,_ but it sounded like he was yelling at her in a Slavic tongue.

 

That being said, she _was_ Bulma Briefs, and when _kurwa mać_ passed through his lips while he gestured at her face, she flushed angrily.

 

Finally, he burst out in English: “Don’t you think I’ve _tried?_ If I could prove it — _conclusively_ , like you say — I wouldn’t _be here_. You want to know why I worked for Frieza? Because I’m a _fucking ghost_. I might as _well_ be dead.”

 

His breaths were coming in short pants now, his cheeks flushed. He was working his jaw to try to keep it together. “I thought maybe… maybe _Bulma Briefs…_ after I was gone. Something. So I wasn’t erased. So _we_ weren’t erased. But I’m still _here_ , and you don’t…” He shook his head as he looked up at the ceiling. “It doesn’t matter, does it?”

 

Bulma shook her head uncomprehendingly. Her insides clenched as waves of hurt rolled off him like tiny little needles to her heart. Bulma had no idea what to do. She had no idea what she had _done._ He was making _no_ sense, his words tripping over themselves.

 

“I tried. For _years_. You say I’m smart. It doesn’t _matter_ ,” he practically spat. “Who the _fuck_ listens to a dirty homeless kid? No one wanted to help. No one _gave a shit_. Then. _Now_. Of course not. It doesn’t _affect_ you.”

 

He stood up and spread his arms. “You can walk right out of here, never have to deal with this again and you’re going to live a _full_ life. You would _still_ be rich, _still_ be brilliant, still be…”

 

His voice trailed off, his gaze raking across her so intensely that her breath caught — a strange mix of frustration and admiration. Bulma’s pulse leapt under his scrutiny.

 

“You’d still be... _so fucking much_ ,” he finished, with a tired gesture to her face. He patted his chest. “I don’t have that luxury.”

 

Bulma felt her throat close up with unexpected emotion. He sounded so upset, defeated, and yet he was gazing at her like she had the answers and was _refusing_ to give them to him.

 

But she had no answers.

 

She was the “Mind of a Generation” but she wasn’t god.

 

They stared at each other as the air in the room turned heavy.

 

“Give me a sec,” she said finally, coming to a decision. She hoped she wasn’t going to regret this.

 

He inclined his head, still with uncertainty on his face before she turned and left his cell.

 

Bulma made a beeline toward the security panel once she was outside and fiddled with the video settings.

 

After a few clicks, she turned the camera off.

 

She fingered the defensive pen in her pocket.

 

This was either the dumbest idea or the smartest.

 

He was nursing one of the beers when she came back to the cell.

 

“You’re back quickly,” he noted, taking a swig. He managed to school his face to an almost droll evenness, his gaze directed at the wall.

 

“I turned off sound and video,” she told him bluntly. At that his eyes snapped sharply toward her.

 

“Why the hell would you do that?”

 

“So we don’t get interrupted when things start getting real,” she said, crossing her arms. “Our security team is great. They do their job exactly as they need to. But you’re not going to harm me.”

 

She was stating it out loud more to set the tone and to solidify her belief more than anything.

 

She plucked her beer from the table and after a second, sat down beside him. They weren’t touching but they were close enough that she could feel his body heat. She could tell he was shocked at her actions, shocked that she was _sitting_ right beside him after his little tantrum.

 

She gestured at the corner where the camera is. “See? No red dot. It’s just you and me.”

 

She prayed that she made the right call.

 

“What is this?” he murmured.

 

She wasn’t sure if he meant the _situation_ or… whatever was going on between them.

 

“You said I don’t give a shit. That’s not true,” she said with a shrug. “I _wish_ I didn’t, though. You’re the worst.”

 

He managed a small laugh and took a sip of his beer.

 

“Why do you care? I hurt you,” he said bluntly.

 

Good question.

 

She looked down at her own bottle of beer and thought his question over. There was Stockholm, that was for sure, but—

 

“— Patients get violent sometimes,” Bulma said finally. “I work at the ER, so I probably see _your_ pals on a regular basis. I see all sorts of drug addicts, homeless people… I also see kids, old folks, mentally unstable people. _Suicidal_ people. And even normal folk who just had a bad run-in with a wall — or yes, even tripped over their own feet to an unforgiving slab of concrete.”

 

She saw him look at her at her periphery as she idly fiddled with her beer bottle.

 

“Anyway. Patients get violent sometimes,” she repeated. “They get _mean._ ”

 

“Sounds like a shit show,” he said, clearly referencing himself judging by the slight quirk of his lips.

 

“It is, yeah,” Bulma acknowledged. “Anyway, I have an unusually high tolerance for bad behavior. Because at the end of the day, hurt people hurt people.”

 

She was looking down at her beer bottle, but noticed him move his gaze away at her statement.

 

“And I’m a _doctor_. The entire point of my existence is to stop the hurt,” she said with a small laugh. She took a swig of beer. “I have this bad habit of caring for strays, lost causes and misfits.”

 

He scoffed lightly. “I am _none_ of the above.”

 

“Right,” she drawled. “You’re on your _own_ category of asshole-ness.”

 

He lifted his beer towards her and they clinked bottles.

 

What a thing to cheers to, she thought with amusement, angling a gaze up at him. He winked at her almost reflexively and dammit if her face didn’t flush.

 

Why did he have to be so handsome and charming _and_ crazy?

 

For a while, they sat there in companionable silence and Bulma thought well, maybe her dad was right about the friendly touch. This was nice. She felt like she’d really connected with him.

 

“DNA could still prove your ethnic origin,” Bulma said finally after the silence stretched. “I’m already getting it looked at.”

 

At that, he stared at her in surprise. “But you said you didn’t—”

 

“I _don’t,”_ Bulma broke in, clearly confusing him. “But it doesn’t matter what I believe. The truth is the truth, no matter what anyone _feels_ about the matter. It just makes sense to do it anyway.”

 

“There’s nothing left,” he said heavily. “Nothing to compare it to. My ancestors were buried in the palace grounds. Not sure how much you’ve read, but we were bombed. Everything was destroyed. Incinerated. Including my parents’ remains.”

 

The way he casually stated it, so calmly, so _possessively_ , was starting to chip away at Bulma’s own belief. He couldn’t be _that_ great of a liar, could he?

 

“There’s a birth record _some_ where.”

 

“The internet didn’t exist thirty years ago,” he told bluntly.

 

“So? I was born like… a year after you. There are records of my existence,” she pointed out, brows raised. “I do know old hospital systems are pretty shitty, but it’d really surprise me if there are no copies of your existence _anywhere_. Anyway, those computers are easy to hack into as long as there’s a network connection. And if not, the old fashioned file route, right?”

 

He rolled his eyes. “And you presume of the _two_ of us, you’re the first to think about hacking into hospital systems and even _physically_ trying to verify records. There’s _nothing_. They’ve been wiped by the Morozkos.”

 

Bulma frowned. That was the name of the group _allegedly_ responsible for the massacre at Saiya. She began to feel uneasy. While she could explain it away — he did his research on his fake identity — it just came too easily to him. Too natural.

 

No hesitation.

 

“How did you _survive?_ ” Bulma burst out unintentionally.

 

He angled her a look and took a swig of his beer. “So what, you believe me now?”

 

“I-I’m just trying to make sense of it all,” she said honestly. “If everything got bombed and incinerated why would anyone think _you_ disappeared? The rest of the royal family was...”

 

Bulma shifted uncomfortably. It was so macabre and clearly borrowing from the Romanov situation, like a mocking “tribute.” Photographed and then shot point-blank.

 

So there was evidence of both before and _after_ the murders.

 

“I was playing hide-and-seek when everything went down. I’m not fond of cameras. Of publicity in general,” he said as he looked straight ahead, as if reminiscing. He sounded very calm, faraway. “I remember being under a table. My half-brother Tarble, my father’s bastard son, looked like me. I convinced him to take my place.”

 

Horror filled Bulma. Vegeta let out a small laugh, a strangled sound.

 

“He agreed because we both thought it was going to be a fucking _laugh riot_ when the _official_ photos didn’t actually have the _official_ heir in it.”

 

Bulma hadn’t realized she’d started crying until he reared back slightly and frowned.

 

“What’s wrong with you?” He sounded angry and uneasy.

 

Bulma wiped her cheeks hastily and glared at his tone. “What’s wrong with _me?_ This is a _normal_ reaction to a tragedy.”

 

“You don’t even believe I went through it. How do you know I didn’t just lie?”

 

Good question.

 

“Did you?” she asked softly, with a small sniff.

 

He finished off his beer and tapped the empty bottle against his knee.

 

“I wish I was.”

 

A wave of fresh tears threatened to overwhelm Bulma. The dark man before her made an exasperated sound and gestured at her face.

 

“Stop that,” he snapped.

 

She rubbed her wet lids with her arm. He seemed so uncomfortable with her show of emotion, shifting slightly away from her.

 

“What _happened_ to you? How did you get away?!” Bulma exclaimed on a hiccup. “I-I mean if you were hiding under a table… you must have been _so_ scared—”

 

He growled and ran a hand over his face.

 

“Fuck. _This_ is why no one knows my name.”

 

“I’m going to find your records,” Bulma said firmly, grasping his arm to get him to look at her and pay attention.

 

“And what makes you think you’d succeed where I failed?” he drawled.

 

She pointed at her face. “I don’t think you realize I’m Bulma _fucking_ Briefs.”

 

She noticed him swallow a smile at her declaration before shrugging.

 

“Well, if you do, then I’ll… I don’t know, knight you or something equally useless once I get all that rubble back,” he said flippantly, blatantly disregarding her determination.

 

“What? You wouldn’t make me your queen?” she said without thinking.

 

She didn’t expect his head to swoop down at her words.

 

It was quick, the way his lips pressed against hers and yet a thrill ran through her spine. She sat still, stunned. She could still feel his breath against her mouth when he looked up at where the camera was situated.

 

“Huh. You really did turn it off,” he murmured.

 

“Don’t,” she whispered.

 

“Don’t what?”

 

She wasn’t sure.

 

Thought flew out of her mind when his lips descended on hers again, less gentle this time, his tongue demanding entrance. Bulma parted her lips and their breaths mingled in a mutual sigh of relief. 

 

Oh, god, she’d thought about this for so long — hell, _dreamt_ about it — but reality was proving to be so much _more_.

 

His mouth was more forceful, _daring_ she submit to him — but he had another thing coming if he thought that was how Bulma Briefs danced. And yet, she loved the feel of it, the _heat._ It felt all consuming, like every synapse in her brain was firing all at once _and_ dying graceful deaths because all she could think of was _this_ , right now, how this felt, how much she wanted him—

 

It was a battle of tongues and teeth and groans, her hands carding through his flame of hair, while his hands wandered over her hips to draw her against him.

 

Bulma gasped when suddenly, she felt a splash of moisture soak through her sweater. Vegeta swore, also soaked.

  
She realized they’d gotten so caught up with each other that they’d forgotten the beers on the bed! They’d basically rolled over and spilled hers all over themselves and the sheets!

 

Bulma _leapt_ out of his arms and scrambled away from the bed.

 

“Oh, my god,” she shrieked, while taking lung fulls of air. What the _hell_ was she doing?!

 

What’s worse was that Vegeta was already tugging off his wet tank top.

 

“We shouldn’t have done that, we— I’m going to go,” Bulma exclaimed, trying to look anywhere but him. At the door, she made a wild gesture with her hand. “This isn’t going to happen again.”

 

She didn’t wait for his response, practically tripping over herself to get through the threshold. She kept her eyes forward as she stalked toward the security panel so she could turn the recording camera and sound back on.

 

Right before she pressed the switch, she saw him take a beer bottle and hurl it across the room along with his tank top. The glass shattered soundlessly since she hadn’t yet flipped the switch, but she didn’t need to hear the shards bouncing against the hard surface.

 

Her own heart cracking was close enough.

 

She watched as he sank down on a non-soaked portion of the bed, then buried his face in his hands.

 

Bulma turned the recording back on, quickly called for a cleanup crew then pressed a few more buttons to secure the area.

 

She left the premises without another word.

 

.

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.


	35. Chapter 35

Chi-Chi knew she was being impulsive. It was impulsiveness that day that got her to ask Lazuli to switch shifts at the last minute. She fibbed to her father that she needed him to babysit Gohan that afternoon and evening.

She was a little worried that she was being a little… _presumptuous?_ Forward? Regardless, it wasn’t like she and Kakarrot _ever_ had a regular relationship that moved in any sort of normal pace — or was normal in any way. But she was giddy about the recent shift in their relationship and thought it would be nice to surprise him with dinner and a night with just the two of them.

They hadn’t really had a talk about what they were, really, except the extremely vague “physical relationship” and “dating” thing; which was another reason why she wanted to have some time alone.

Goku was a weird puzzle — a different one from Kakarrot. Less _troubled_ and mysterious and more _baffling_ and hard to read _._ She wasn’t sure where he stood emotionally in a _completely_ different way when he was Kakarrot.

Chi-Chi’s fingers twined anxiously together. Goku was sweet. He was a genuinely good, earnest guy — he barely knew anything about his past, and yet here he was taking responsibility not only for his son, but the past work he left behind.

He seemed to care more for others than himself.

But it made her wonder if she was just a part of the long line of things that Goku had to check off to “fix.” Would he have _cared_ if she rejected his suggestion to turn their relationship physical?

He just seemed to be so _unbothered_.

Was she just messed up? What did she expect from him? An emotional outburst, like a declaration of undying love?!

Even though he _was_ Kakarrot somewhere in there, he really wasn’t any more. They technically barely knew each other. Some part of her was a little conflicted over whether it was fair of her to even… pursue this.

She _liked_ Goku, but she was still in love with _Kakarrot_.

It was so confusing because they _were_ the same man!

She was getting ahead of herself, anyway. Even though he was the father of her child and she’d known _him_ since they were children, _he_ had no context for that. And even though it felt _absurd_ to step back a little, she knew that was probably the best thing to do here.

She could practically hear Bulma lecture her, finger wagging.

Though it was Capsule Corp, Chi-Chi was still surprised when she neared the entrance to see said short-haired friend leaning against the wall, puffing a cigarette. She hadn’t expected to see Bulma there — which, in hindsight, was silly. Bulma was working on a “special project” with her dad that involved Kakarrot’s recovery so she put in a leave of absence at the hospital.

It made sense to run into her.

Bulma, though, seemed startled to see her approach but quickly schooled her features to be droll.

“Hey,” her best friend greeted, tilting her head. “Where’s short stuff?”

At that, Chi-Chi’s smile froze in her face. Ah, _crap_. Of course. Bulma would think she was there to drop her son off to see Goku. Why _else_ would she be showing up mid-afternoon?

“You said you were going to quit,” Chi-Chi deflected, gesturing toward the slim smoke between her fingers. Bulma scoffed and flicked her ash into a cup she was holding in her other hand.

“I am having the mother of all shit days,” Bulma said, her voice tight. At that, Chi-Chi noticed the smudges beneath her friend’s eyes, and that it was slightly red-rimmed.

Whoa, had she been _crying?_

Worry flooded Chi-Chi. Bulma Briefs hardly ever cried. She once joked it was Rule 2 of the “Badass Women of Science” book: Rule 1 was Tell Everyone to Go Fuck Themselves. The last time she cried in front of her was after their crazy ordeal with the kidnapping and that was _well_ warranted. Before then… maybe Gohan’s _birth?_

“Right. Lung cancer is definitely the solution to that,” Chi-Chi teased. Bulma sighed and ground the smoke into her cup. “What’s going on? Why’s your day so shitty?”

Bulma pressed her lips together and shook her head. “This entire… _project_ is fucking me up.”

Chi-Chi’s frown deepened. Kakarrot—Goku—seemed _fine._ But then again, that was his default. He was incomprehensible even with his straightforwardness.

“The SenzuB stuff not working as planned? Goku told me he was taking double the dosage… it’s not doing what it needs to do?” Chi-Chi asked.

Bulma gaped at her for a bit, confused. Her forehead cleared after a few moments.

“Oh, uh, no… that’s fine. It’s… don’t worry about it, Chi. I’m just… I don’t know. I haven’t slept well. You know how it is with shift work and then changing to another clock. I’m working days instead of nights now.”

Chi-Chi narrowed her eyes. She _knew_ Bulma and could tell she wasn’t being quite forthright with her.

Then again, she was hiding something herself, too.

It must have also shown on _her_ face, because Bulma’s shrewd eyes also narrowed.

“Where’s Gohan?” Bulma repeated.

All at once, Chi-Chi felt defensive. There was _nothing_ wrong with what she and Goku were doing. He was Gohan’s father after all!

“At Papa’s,” Chi-Chi said calmly.

Bulma stared at her intensely for a few more moments before she covered her mouth and looked to the sky.

“You _slut_ ,” Bulma drawled, though her eyes were crinkled with amusement and… a hint of sadness? It was _not_ the reaction Chi-Chi expected.

She expected gesticulations, _yelling —_ similar to what Bulma did when she told her she was pregnant with Gohan and had been carrying on a secret affair all those years ago.

Instead, Bulma was half laughing, a strangled sound, while she shook her head. “What the _fuck_ , Mau. _Still?_ Is his dick dipped in gold or something?”

And _there_ it was _—_ the judgement. Chi-Chi’s cheeks flared, her hand lifting. “I don’t want to hear it, B. Goku’s a _good_ guy.”

Bulma shrugged and sighed. Her eyes were tired when they met.

“Look, Chi, you’re a big girl. He’s Gohan’s dad. I’m not… I’m the last person right now to judge,” she said heavily.

Chi-Chi’s lips parted, her eyes wide. Was this the same practical, _logical_ friend that reamed her out for an entire hour until they were both crying in a heap after she’d taken five pregnancy tests in a row?

“I’m really biting my tongue here,” Bulma added with a twitch of her lips as Chi-Chi continued to stare at her silently.

“I… _appreciate_ that,” Chi-Chi said finally.

“I don’t like it _,_ but only because I want the best for you. You know that, right? He’s cute, sure, but also kind of a weirdo, _”_ Bulma said dryly, reaching out a hand to squeeze her arm. Chi-Chi shrugged uncomfortably, knowing what Bulma was trying to say. “Not to mention he’s supposed to be dead and danger is practically his middle name. We’re all safe _right now_ , but Kakarrot’s job doesn’t make that a guarantee.”

“All levels of law enforcement have families. It’s a risk. It’s not going to be easy, but it’s just… that’s just the way it is,” Chi-Chi said with a sigh. She paused and looked down at her hands before she met Bulma’s gaze evenly. “I love him, Bulma.”

Bulma closed her eyes briefly, then nodded. “Even as Goku?”

Chi-Chi bit her lip. “I don’t know. I don’t really know ‘Goku.’”

Bulma puffed her cheeks out. “Well. That’s a first. Only _you_ would have a love triangle with the same guy.”

Chi-Chi let out a surprised laugh. She never thought of it that way.

Bulma’s full lips twisted. “Does he fuck differently?”

Chi-Chi’s jaw loosened. “ _Bulma Briefs.”_

“ _Bitch_ , spill. You kept that shit locked down all those years ago and this time around you’re going to tell it _all_ to me. I’d rather you tell me than keep it quiet, hey? I don’t want you to deal with this alone,” Bulma added seriously. “I’m not his biggest fan, but I don’t want you to hide stuff from me. I’m your _sister_.”

At that, Chi-Chi’s eyes began to water and before she knew it, her arms were around the heiress’ body. She hadn’t realized how much Bulma’s opinion mattered to her until that moment, relief flooding her. She wouldn’t have to keep all her feelings to herself, bottled up and confused.

They both burst into tears at her action, similar to what had happened in the hospital after they had reunited from their shared trauma. Well, Bulma must have had a really bad day because this was really a record for the blue-haired spitfire.

After a while, they both were laughing at their overtly emotional display. They were both wiping their tears from their faces when they strolled back inside Capsule Corp.

“So? Does he fuck differently?”

.

.

.

Chi-Chi was taken aback at the panic in Goku’s face when she knocked on his doorway. She normally did that as a courtesy before using her keycard, but he was _right_ at the door when it swished open.

“What happened?!” he exclaimed, looking wildly around her. “Gohan?!”

Chi-Chi could only gape in shock while he frantically ran his hands over her like checking for an injury before setting her aside and looking around.

“He has him again!?” he gasped.

“Wh-what?” she managed, dazed. What in the _world…?_

“The Prince, he—”

Chi-Chi concern went into overdrive. He was having some sort of mental break, she realized. Maybe that was why Bulma was so stressed and concerned about the project; the SenzuB was making him relive the docks? Weird memories?

“It’s fine, Gohan is fine,” Chi-Chi said soothingly, rubbing his chest while she observed his eyes carefully for signs of mania. “He’s with Papa right now. The Prince is _dead_ , remember?”

At that, he stilled his jerky movements and blinked rapidly, looking disoriented and confused. She stroked his cheek. “It’s okay, I’m here. We’re all fine.”

“Chi-Chi… why are you here?” he asked slowly as they walked into his apartment warily, still a little shaken.

She flushed slightly and shrugged awkwardly. “Um… moved some shifts around and thought I’d surprise you. I was thinking we could…” A surge of insecurity coursed through her. Had she read him wrong? Was surprising him an utter mistake? Was she just a stupid lovesick fool, like _always?_

“You know, I’m sorry, I should have cal—” Her flush deepened when she realized she didn’t have a number, _his_ number, just like last time! She couldn’t have even phoned ahead unless she wanted to relay a message through Mrs. B or Bulma through _their_ phones.

Did Goku even _have_ a phone?

God, was she a total and utter idiot?

Just because _she_ liked him, didn’t mean…

Goku frowned, his hand running through her hair and down her cheek. “Hey. It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you’re here. I’ve… had a weird day. Sorry for scaring you like that.”

He kissed her temple and gave her a squeeze, a little harder than she expected, like he was afraid she was going to disappear. He kissed her hair, then her cheeks a couple more times, as if to assure her he was happy to see her.

It warmed her heart. She felt rather silly for her insecurity. Goku was a sweetheart and so generous with his kisses, while she was a mess. Kakarrot was never so _openly_ affectionate like this.

She strangely felt guilty for liking it.

“The SenzuB stuff?” Chi-Chi ventured, and tried not to feel _too_ delighted that when he released her, he immediately took her hand in his. Yep, she definitely liked this affectionate side of his.

He grimaced. “No, I’m handling that fine. The investigation got more complicated.”

“Can you talk about it?” Chi-Chi asked carefully as they walked to the kitchen. He looked at her and released her hand. He was way too attractive, she thought to herself as she observed the muscles under his black t-shirt ripple when he mussed his hair in slight frustration.

“Let’s just say I’m sick and tired of being lied to. By _everyone_ ,” he said, confusing Chi-Chi. “I’m stuck here picking up the pieces and I don’t know, I think I’m doing a pretty good job, _considering_ —but no one respects me!”

Chi-Chi’s lips dipped.

“And then I feel so ungrateful because I have a roof over my head and the Briefs have been _so_ kind to me. I know it’s a privilege getting the best care for my...” he gestured at his head. “Everyone talks to me like I’m a child. I talk to _Gohan_ with more care. I lost my _memory_ , not my entire brain.”

Chi-Chi wasn’t sure what he was referring to about the lies, and she felt a little guilty because she was sure she contributed a little to treating him with kid gloves. Compared to Kakarrot, Goku _was_ like a kid. He was just so _earnest_ , so _nice,_ and seemed to view the world so simply, black and white.

Still, she was sure no one was being malicious.

She speculated that Dr. Briefs was holding things back to protect him. “Goku, think about it this way. No one in this building means you harm. The opposite.”

“I know, that’s why I feel so ungrateful. But at the same time, I’ve been lied to. To my _goddamn_ face,” he emphasized, pointing at his eyes with two fingers. Chi-Chi swallowed a smile. Kakarrot definitely came out when Goku was frustrated.

“So, I know you’re being purposely vague here,” Chi-Chi said slowly, as she ran a comforting hand up and down his back. “And some could say that’s lying, too.”

He frowned sharply. “No, that’s—”

“I know, Goku. That’s my point. Dr. B. — he’s like my second dad,” Chi-Chi said finally. “He wouldn’t say or do anything to harm anyone _on purpose_. And sometimes the truth needs time to come out. When it’s ready.”

She shrugged awkwardly as she continued to rub his back and he leaned toward her. “Kinda like this. We’re not really telling people about… um… you and I for… well, it’s _our_ business, right?”

His lips twisted to the side while he shrugged.

“I don’t know. I’m okay with telling people,” he said quietly.

Her lips parted. “O-oh? Really?”

He looked at his feet. “Yeah, sure.”

Chi-Chi was flustered. She wasn’t sure how to take that. They literally just started seeing each other. Did they have to hide anything? Was she just used to the fact that when he was Kakarrot that secrecy was the _utmost_ importance, that he wasn’t even supposed to exist?

“Maybe not the outside world,” he said after a moment of reflection, his eyes meeting hers. “That’s not safe. Everyone _here_. Friends. Family.”

Chi-Chi fell silent.

He looked away. “Well, whatever makes you comfortable.”

“Does it bother you?” she asked bluntly. “It… _us_ … being a secret?”

“I don’t like secrets, period,” he said. She took a deep breath.

“Bulma knows,” she blurted out. His eyes widened slightly in surprise before a corner of his mouth quirked up. He seemed genuinely pleased to hear that.

“Yeah? What’d you tell her?”

She shrugged and flushed. Bulma egged her on until she spilled _a little_ about their recent romp in bed, but she didn’t put a label on anything.

“That we’re together,” she said simply.

“Oh, and look at that, the world’s still turning,” he said with a small hand wave.

The sarcasm was _Kakarrot._

But the twinkling eyes were Goku.

“She thinks it’s dangerous,” she added cautiously.

The smile slowly went off his face. “I’m sorry…”

“I’m still here,” she said. “Life is dangerous.”

She knew it was an oversimplification and an understatement, but it was also the truth.

“It would be safer if you and Gohan weren’t in my life at all,” he said quietly.

“We already had this conversation, remember?” she said. “I know you’ll do everything to protect our family.”

A small smile returned on his face. “Our family.”

“Yes,” she said determinedly.

He gathered her in his arms and rested his cheek on top of her head.

“I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all we can do,” she murmured.

.

.

.

Talking to Chi-Chi was a mistake, Bulma thought morosely.

Basically all she did was moon over Kakarrot — Goku — oh, fuck, who the hell _cared_ what he was called! The woman was practically buzzing with afterglow, and even though Chi-Chi had been cautious and conservative about the “L” word it was pretty obvious to Bulma that if she wasn’t _already_ in love with this _version_ of her baby daddy, she was already well on her way.

And Bulma, being in the pathetic state she was in, swimming in a pool of self-loathing, could barely stand it. Chi-Chi’s guy even ended up being a _cop —_ one of the _good guys —_ she could bang him with a _totally_ clear conscience!

Well, she _was_ happy for Chi-Chi — though she still thought it was stupid to fuck a guy that left her, was recovering from brain trauma and had a target on his back. She was still worried about the potential consequences, especially once intel-gathering ceased and actual field work began. Bulma knew it was going to be a _string_ of the night at the docks once that happened — was Chi-Chi prepared for that? Worrying for him? About herself and Gohan?

Or was she wallowing in self-delusion to keep her little love bubble protected?

Bulma grimaced into her wine glass. God, she sounded bitter even to herself.

This was all _his_ fault.

She poked at the security feed on the screen of her laptop, watching the dark figure pace quietly around the room. He really needed to be physical while he was thinking, Bulma noticed. Finger tapping. Walking.

He couldn’t stay still.

He practically vibrated with suppressed energy.

She wondered if it was because his mind was so busy, it was the only way to release some of the tension.

She had good ol’ fashioned wine to help _her_ numb the buzzing in her brain.

Though she could think of other, more _pleasurable_ ways to blank her mind out.

“He’s probably not even good in bed,” Bulma said aloud. “Guys that arrogant are _all_ talk.”

She nodded as she took another hearty swig of her wine and turned the security feed off. She was in danger of becoming a creeper. Still, she opened up a browser to check the status of the DNA test. Still pending. It wasn’t definitive whatsoever; it was a controversial practice to check ethnic _markers_ and it sure rubbed anthropologists the wrong way.

But, there was something _unique_ about Saiyans.

They descended from Genghis Khan, during his conquer of Eurasia.  


 That was a unique trait, something that could be qualified.

It didn’t prove he was a prince, no, but it was a step toward proving his identity.

Bulma sighed and tapped against her laptop and thought about how to fulfill the promise she gave him. She wanted to find his records but if _he_ had tried, really tried, to find it _himself_ , it was hard for Bulma to think a man that resourceful would come up with nothing unless there _was_ nothing.

Try as she might, she couldn’t deny that she believed him now. No matter how much she justified how he could have faked it, it made less and less sense for him to do so.

It was too tragic, too _fantastical._

Truth was stranger than fiction.

And while of course that didn’t erase his crimes or what he did to her, it _did_ give her insight to how deeply fucked up his life was, had been. And in between, he’d turned to a life of crime… she was now so damn _curiou_ s how that happened. Somehow he escaped an entire massacre but ended up living a life that was so _clearly_ beneath him.

It made her heart ache.

God, just looking at his photos as a child—he was serious, even back then, if that fierce scowl was any indication. He hid behind a severe-looking woman the majority of the time. Never _blatantly_ , because his pride would never allow that; he’d stand straight, but always just behind the woman’s legs.

His mother?

Bulma pulled up the Wikipedia page for Vegeta Szlachta II and read about Mella Szlachta (nee Roslina). She was the eldest daughter of the Tuffle clan, a neighboring kingdom that was annexed by Saiya. Apparently, hers was a political marriage to assure peace between the Saiyans and the Tuffles after their war ended.

She was a tiny thing with a short bob of black hair and not particularly remarkable looking, considering how arresting her husband and son were. Still, something about her eyes… she seemed fierce and intelligent, the tilt of her chin _proud_ , very much like the man in the cell.

But what made her sit upright as she read the Wikipedia entry was finding out that Mella Szlachta had been a _scientist._ Bulma feverishly typed in her name in a scientific publication and found _Mella Roslina_ as co-author of several published papers specializing in radar and night vision that spotted fluctuations of organic heat and energy but taking it a step further to posit the _strength_ level of the organic matter.

Scouters.

It was only when she started squinting that Bulma realized that darkness had fallen and she’d lost hours down an internet hole uncovering the amazingness that was Mella Roslina. She was born of privilege and _yet_ used her mind and kept herself busy. For the _time_ , her thoughts on tracking, scanners, and x-rays were so _advanced,_ and the fact that she was a _woman_ at that, daring to research such things — she realized that the political marriage wasn’t just that.

The Saiyans wanted her mind.

That was Vegeta’s _mother?_

Bulma would have liked to have met her.

Tears pricked her eyes again.

Ugh, there wasn’t enough alcohol in the _world_ to numb her for all this.

.

.

.

“I wanna talk about your _mom_ ,” Bulma said.

She’d startled him with her voice, since he jerked ever so slightly in bed. Also, she technically _woke_ him up in the middle of the night. She was vaguely aware that she probably shouldn’t be doing this after downing her third bottle of wine, then watching that damned depressing documentary again.

Still, Bulma Briefs was _impatient_ and the alcohol wasn’t knocking her out like it should and she was curious and she wanted to hear it from _him._

“What are you going on about?” he said gravely, his voice rough with sleep.

Ooh, yeah, sexy.

Mama likey.

“Your _mom,”_ Bulma repeated probably a little too loudly through the microphone. “She was _totally boss_. Oh my _god_ , she would have been besties with dad, you know. Our parents would’ve gotten along. D’ya ‘member her? I mean you were five so maybe not—”

“Shut up,” he interrupted, lifting his hand, wincing at her voice. He rubbed his face tiredly. “What are you…?”

She pursed her lips and messily pressed a few buttons on the security console. She noticed him frown swiftly and look up at the camera she just disabled, probably noticing the bright red light going dim again.

She stumbled to the entrance and plunked her palm over the scanner.

He was already by the threshold, glaring at her in confusion when the door swished closed behind her.

“Oh, _hi_ ,” she giggled and threw her arms around his neck. He reared back and pointedly pulled her away.

“Are you fucking _drunk?_ ” he exclaimed, his voice sharpening, his hands at her waist. She was wearing her jammie jams — short shorts and a thin tank top with no bra — and she could tell he noticed.

Yeah, take a good look, buddy.

Bulma giggled and made a gesture with the forefinger and thumb.

“ _Little_ bit,” she whispered and then broke into a peal of giggles.

“You’re bonkers,” he snapped, “Do you have a death wish?”

“Pot, meet kettle,” Bulma countered and tapped his nose.

“What are you doing here?” he ground out. “I thought—”

“Wha—? That I’ma never talk to you again after this afternoon? C’mon, who d’ya think I am? I made a _promise_ ,” Bulma said sternly, poking him in the chest. Gosh, he smelled good and he didn’t even need cologne, nope. He was tempting all by himself. “But no kissing, okay? No more kissing.”

She leaned forward, almost so their mouths grazed before she pulled back and smacked him lightly against the cheek.

“How dare you try to besmirch my virtue,” she said theatrically.

“This isn’t cute. It’s annoying. Go away and sleep this off,” he said, pointing to the door.

She pursed her lips. “Hm. Interesting.”

She was still pretty tipsy but his reaction wasn’t what she expected. Really? He was going to kick her out? Clearly, he didn’t expect her reaction either, since he gaped at her, dumbfounded.

 _Ha_ , she managed to actually get him to that state!

He gestured with his pointed hand toward the door again.

“One week, I said,” he said coolly. “ _Then_ you’re going to hold my hand and walk me out of here yourself.”

Bulma lifted her chin and smoothed her camisole. “Not with that attitude, I’m not.”

“Go to sleep, woman. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, shaking his head.

Bulma pursed her lips, slightly confused. He really wasn’t even going to _try…?_ She was a little confused as to _why…_ if the situation was reversed she would try to escape right now.

She hadn’t realized she’d actually asked the question aloud until he huffed impatiently and flicked a finger.

“One, the cameras and sound are off _here_ , but your father isn’t stupid. The _corridors,_ once we’re out of here, are rigged. Two, you’re fucking loaded and your twitchy-fingered security would only witness you lolling around assuming I tried to knock you out.”

He sliced the air with his palm. “Don’t think I don’t know how to get out of here on my own, but it _does_ mean using you as a human shield and you’re more _useful_ to me alive than dead. Should that happen, I’m certain daddy dearest _would_ find me, and then have me tortured because death would be too good for me then. Finally, I’m tired and you’re _heavy._ ”

Bulma stared at him in open-mouthed shock and anger.

“I am _not heavy_ ,” she shrieked. “I’m _practically_ a ballerina!”  


“Go away. Go to _sleep_.”

“You’re not even going to _try_ to take advantage?” she asked softly, her fingers trailing against the top edges of her camisole, outlining the swell of her breasts. He followed her movement, his eyes narrowing slightly with unmasked interest.

He closed his eyes briefly, but when he opened them again, his expression was dry.

“You smell like you just crawled out of a vat of wine and then took a dive in an ashtray,” he said flatly. Bulma’s cheeks flushed and this time, it wasn’t from drink. “I don’t care if the cameras are off, these walls are _fucking transparent_. I know you’re the type who probably gets off when people watch you, but that’s not really my style.”

He got into her space and lowered his voice. “And let me remind you, I prefer a woman to be _present._ I want her to _know_ who’s inside her.”

Bulma closed her eyes and shivered as he grasped her upper arm and his lips brushed against her earlobe.

“Come back when you’re ready to take me out of here. Be _so_ sober that you could recite the entire periodic table. So when I _finally_ bend you over and _fuck_ you, your photographic memory’s going to remember _every_ single time I made you scream.”

Bulma swallowed the whimper that bubbled up her throat when he pushed her away toward the door.

She stumbled silently through the exit, her heart pounding in her ears.

.

.

.

 


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, I'm alive. Got swept up with holidays and the new year. :)

Goku had a relatively sleepless night, his mind whirring. He suspected that the double dose of SenzuB was partly to blame; it felt like his brain was firing on all cylinders. But the previous day had been rather eventful. Finding out The Prince was still alive and _aiding_ them on this investigation had made him incredibly anxious. While he was truly happy for Chi-Chi’s surprise visit, that _had_ thrown him for a loop… scattering his plans for the evening.

 

Chi-Chi ended up falling asleep on the couch while he reviewed that day’s work notes. He knew that Chi-Chi _probably_ expected a little physical intimacy, but was patient and understanding about his need to focus on work that night. She seemed sincere about primarily wanting his company.

 

While he was focused on his reading and notes, he appreciated her presence nevertheless. The warmth of her legs on his thighs while she sprawled on the couch while he sat felt… comfortable.

  
Familiar, even.

 

Goku never felt wanted like that before. People never got close enough to him, not really, with the exception of Grampy. Even on Papaya Island.

 

When he interacted with people, there was usually a favor or task involved. He babysat children; he helped with chores here and there. Even this entire scenario with Frieza and the Prince… he always tried to do the right thing when he could. He was here because he had something to contribute.

 

He never _minded_ work and enjoyed helping others. But, there was something special being wanted for… just existing.

 

Goku only paused his work to carry Chi-Chi to bed. He wasn’t able to join her until the wee hours of the morning; mostly because he forced himself to get some rest.

 

When he settled in bed, he listened to her breathe, reveling in her warmth as his mind refused to stop. It was a comfort to have her against him while he struggled to calm his racing thoughts. He’d never really shared a bed with anyone before, not like this. The way she curled against him, so trusting and affectionate…in this entire chaotic situation, Chi-Chi was a steadying force.

 

He was well aware that she could have been a _lot_ less understanding about his circumstance. She was well within her rights to keep Gohan away. She could have been resentful and angry toward him, for a _slew_ of reasons he wished he could make up for.

 

He _would_ make up for.

 

Instead of the hatred he probably deserved, she gave him her time, her sympathetic ear and the warmth of her touch. She teased and joked and flashed kind smiles. She gave him her body, and sweet kisses that left him breathless and… and a _family_ he would die for.

 

He must have fallen asleep, marveling at his luck, marveling at this woman… because a gentle hand jarred him to consciousness. Chi-Chi hovered over him like she had in his dreams, soft and beautiful, her hair an inky cloud over porcelain skin. But this wasn’t a vision, she was _real,_ she was _here —_ his chest constricted, like he could barely breathe, and yet it wasn’t a bad tension.

 

He felt ready to take on the world.

 

He realized she was already showered and dressed by the time she’d roused him. He tried to half-heartedly get up, still exhausted, but Chi-Chi brushed her lips against his, the contact causing a jolt that he felt down to his toes, as she told him to go back to bed. She would come visit with Gohan soon.

 

Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to go back to sleep.

 

Which was probably why, when Piccolo saw him walk into the conference room later that morning, he was rewarded with a look of pure surprise.

 

“You look like shit,” Piccolo remarked, pleasant as always. Still, the ornery man seemed to have a sense of decency because the next moment, he walked over to the coffee maker he’d gotten installed for them and poured him a mug.

 

Goku took the caffeine gratefully and sipped. “I’ve been thinking about Frieza’s real estate empire.” He’d spent all night staring at their plotted map of West City and Frieza’s known places of business. “It’s pretty obvious that it’s his main money laundry mechanism. Did I ever investigate the sales of certain property?”

 

Piccolo tilted his head thoughtfully at Goku’s opening inquiry, probably surprised that he hadn’t started with any pleasantries asking how he was. That was Goku’s normal routine, even if all he was rewarded was a grunt. But Goku wasn’t in the mood to play nice with the sergeant this morning. He was more than a little tired and cranky.

 

“Yeah… I remember you asking if we could get city records of recent sales. But there would be _thousands_ to parse through for one year’s worth,” Piccolo said as he settled into a conference room chair with his ever-present cup of coffee.

 

Goku nodded and took a generous sip of his own brew.

 

“We don’t have to go through thousands,” Goku said. He’d come to this conclusion in the evening. “What do we know about the building that he tried to burn down a month ago? The one I ran into? We _know_ that was related to Frieza. It’s a large enough project to hide a large sum of money. How much was that property worth? A few million at least?”

 

Piccolo’s eyes sharpened. He whipped the smartphone from his pocket. “I don’t know. Let me check a couple things. I see where you’re headed.”

 

Goku grinned, though it was tired. “We follow the trail of that purchase. Who is he buying it from? Who’s the builder? Hell, can we even nail him for _insurance_ fraud with the fire thing? It doesn’t really matter how we put him away…”

 

Piccolo was looking at him oddly now. He shook his head, as if changing his mind about something, before continuing.

 

“Insurance fraud is tricky, though that’s something we’ve tried to prove before. The problem is two-fold: one, Frieza never does his own dirty work. So even if we can prove foul play, someone else is the fall guy. Next, even if we can prove intent, the most he would get is a few years and he’d probably make bail, pay off someone. The only exception is if someone died in that fire, then _maybe_ we could consider manslaughter. But you made sure people survived.”

 

Goku scowled slightly. “Are you saying I should have knowingly let someone die?”

 

At that, Piccolo rolled his eyes. “Of course not, you idiot. Just stating facts. Besides, like I said, we’d still have to prove intent, blah blah. You’re on the right track, though.”

 

Goku sighed into his coffee mug.

 

“He’s killed a lot of people in other ways, don’t worry.” Piccolo’s tone was simultaneously dark and wry. “The problem is finding evidence and pinning it on him. Good thing we have The Prince on our side for that.”

 

“He’s not going to testify,” Goku said immediately, without knowing quite why. Something inside him told him he was right, though. Piccolo lowered his coffee mug.

 

“He’s already an informant. The next logical thing is to take the stand.”

 

“No, no, he...” Goku shook his head, blinking rapidly. He had no memory to pull this from, but a _feeling_. “He hates the law. And he hates publicity. He hid his _nam_ e for years. He won’t ever put his name on the record. He’ll never take a stand.”

 

Piccolo leaned back in his chair. “Maybe he’ll change his mind?”

 

Goku shook his head. He wasn’t sure where it was coming from but he felt resolute about this. “Information is all he’s willing to give. But… maybe one of the guys he fingered is willing to testify? Dr. Malaka?”

 

“We have someone doing intel on Malaka. We have to wait and see how deep he is in before we make a call on whether it’s worth flipping him.”

 

“Right.”

 

“But for now, it’s a good idea to reexamine that apartment fire and all the things that it entails, see if we can connect the dots from what we’ve uncovered this month with that.”

 

Goku nodded slowly while he thought about how to phrase his next words. The idea came to him when he was reviewing his notes. The more times he read them, the more faint memories — more _feelings_ than anything concrete — came back. On a whim, he decided to go through the exercise Dr. Korin and Dr. Briefs had him do when he first remembered Vegeta’s name and started to rewrite some his notes.

 

As he did so, something seemed to unlock in his mind. The context and ideas from the notes became less abstract. More understandable.

 

And when he’d carried Chi-Chi to bed, he’d had a flash of memory of doing the exact same thing a long time ago… he was _sure_ it had happened.

 

Goku realized that in order to unlock his memories, he had to _repeat_ it.

 

“I think it’s time I do some review outside of Capsule Corp,” Goku said, carefully.

 

Piccolo’s expression didn’t change. “Why?”

 

“There’s only so much I can do here,” Goku said matter-of-factly.

 

Piccolo heaved a sigh. “Look, I get it. You’re probably getting stir crazy, but it’s still dangerous.”

 

“I’ll be careful,” Goku promised.

 

“What _exactly_ do you plan to investigate?”

 

“The fastest way to jog my memory is for me to retrace my steps. The only way to do that is to go to all these places,” Goku said, waving to the map of Frieza’s known locations.

 

“You mean all the places you could be recognized.”

 

“But I’m dead, remember?” Goku said in what he hoped was a reasonable tone. “Why was it okay for me to walk around a month ago like this and not now? Didn’t you say the TV clip was buried?”

 

“You’re not a cop.”

 

“The test I took a few weeks ago disagrees with you,” Goku pointed out firmly. He felt less and less nervous about the reality as days passed. He was beginning to accept that he _was_ Kakarrot. “And if I wasn’t a cop, then why am I even _here_ right now? Why have you asked me to help with this investigation if you thought I was completely useless? You would have shipped me off to witness protection if I was. Instead, here I am.”

 

Piccolo’s lips twitched like he had said something amusing.

 

“Have you remembered everything yet?”

 

Goku knew it was a rhetorical question but he answered anyway. “I think I’m close.” He began to tick off his fingers. “I remembered how to shoot at the precinct gun range. I remembered protocol after taking the academy test. I remembered a few more details about the investigation when I re-wrote the notes—”

 

Piccolo raised his hand to stem his tirade.

 

“You have a point. I’m going to run this by Kami. But I don’t want you to run around all by yourself. _Don’t be stupid_ ,” Piccolo added when Goku opened his mouth to protest. “You haven’t seen _real_ action for five years. The Prince thing was a _lucky_ fluke,” Piccolo rushed forward, anticipating his other interruption. “We _still_ don’t even know how the hell you got dumped on Papaya Island.”

 

Goku’s shoulders slumped slightly. Piccolo was right. He was just so _eager_ to move on, more forward. He was getting antsy being in Capsule Corp. He wasn’t a prisoner; he knew he could leave at any time… but he had a son to think about. Chi-Chi. He had a future and _family_ to worry about.

 

Piccolo eyed him quietly for a few moments before grounding out an impatient sigh. “How about a compromise? It doesn’t really make sense to have you wander around in your state, no matter how strongly you feel things will get back to you. I won’t risk it. You’re too fucking naive and there’s too much at stake.”

 

Goku pressed his lips together, displeased. There was a lot to unpack in Piccolo’s words but he decided to be a better person and focus on the prize. “What compromise do you propose?”

 

“Do a ride-along with Seng.”

 

Goku nearly jumped, startled. Not only wasn’t he expecting the suggestion, he was thrown off at the prospect of working with Krillin. “What do you mean?”

 

“Didn’t he tell you the last time he visited a few weeks ago? What he used to do?”

 

Goku’s brows knitted. “Something about driving people? I mean… what’s so special about that?”

 

Piccolo narrowed his eyes further, and yes, Goku knew he was definitely being judged again. “He was a _getaway_ _d_ _river_.”

 

Goku blinked rapidly, the implication finally dawning on him.

 

“Transport of sensitive people... sensitive _objects_ … he was really good at his job. Until he wasn’t,” Piccolo added with a twist of his lips. “He was a minor at the time of his crimes, so he’s had some time to get his shit together.”

 

“I understand,” Goku said, quietly.

 

“Look, I’m going to look into that apartment thing a bit more myself while you do some reminiscing with Seng. Does that sound good?”

 

Goku nodded, then lowered his coffee onto the conference desk. “Okay. When?”

 

Piccolo rolled his eyes. “Slow down, cowboy. Let’s plan your route, what we expect from Seng and we’ll go from there. You aren’t going to hit every place all in one day.”

 

Goku nodded, trying to stem his excitement. Momentum was finally building! For the first time since he discovered his identity, he was eager to uncover the truth. The whole truth. It was so close, he could almost taste it.

 

“All right. Let’s not overcomplicate this and start with the obvious,” Goku said.

 

Piccolo’s expression remained unchanged. “Frieza Industries’ HQ.”

 

“That’s where all of _this_ stems, right?”

 

Piccolo lifted a brow. “Let’s hope it might be where all of _this_ ends.”

 

.

.

.

 

_Just over five years ago…_

 

 

Chi-Chi pursed her lips while craning her head to look up at the glass tower. She was to meet her father and her new real estate agent, but Papa really was sometimes too much. This agent seemed too fancy for what kind of place she was thinking of buying. Though it had been a throwaway comment, Kakarrot’s suggestion for her to find a newer—safer—apartment resonated. Perhaps, also, she’d been constantly disconcerted at how easily he broke into her place without a trace.

 

Kakarrot was taken aback when she offered him a spare key when her discomfort rose to an all-time high—he’d been randomly showing up for three months now. There’d been no point in pretending she was going to turn him away or for him to _stay away_. While they hadn’t really labelled what they had, it was _sort of_ a relationship… She wasn’t seeing or sleeping with anyone else. While it was perhaps delusional of her to think so, she had a feeling that the same was true for him. It felt like a natural progression for Chi-Chi to offer a key to remove the need for unnecessary break-ins.

 

He outright refused and called her stupid to boot. She slapped him, he left — but despite the drama of that interaction, his reaction hadn’t surprised her. She knew she’d gone out on a limb with the key.

 

Still, it hurt.

 

She hadn’t seen him since.

 

She tried not to dwell over whether that was the last time she’d see him or if he’d randomly pop up if he needed an emotional salve for whatever the hell he was mixed in. While he never really had a _schedule_ when he’d show up at her place, these past five weeks had been the longest stretch of time they’d had apart since they’d begun their dysfunctional tryst.

 

She moved on with her life, like she always did; though, taking extra shifts at the hospital helped, too.

 

Still, she was excited about the idea of buying her first place. She was twenty-four years old and in a stable job with a healthy amount of savings. Real estate was always best to purchase sooner than later. When she phoned Papa to ask for advice, maybe help with looking, her over-eager father had jumped on the first plane to West City to personally help her out.

 

She practically had a shouting match about the down payment he was gifting her so she could purchase a home over her ideal budget. She sighed heavily as she walked into the tower—it looked like she was going to have _another_ one of those arguments because based on this agent’s office, they were going to look at townhouses outside her price range.

 

Chi-Chi felt moderately underdressed in t-shirt and jeans when she entered the large elevator with a group of suited men and women. Many wordlessly pressed their ideal floor. Her agent’s office was in the 25th floor of the 30-floor complex.

 

Since no-one pressed 25, she had to reach out to press it for herself. Simultaneously, someone leaned over to choose their floor, causing them to accidentally brushed fingers.

 

“Sorry,” she said reflexively, turning her head.

 

“No probl—”

 

She whipped her head forward, the blood rushing through her ears.

 

 _Of_ all _people…!_

 

What was he doing here?

 

Did he “work” in this building?

 

With rising hysteria, she realized this was the first time she’d seen Kakarrot outside of her place in _broad daylight_. The night at the swings barely counted since that was dusk.

 

The elevator seemed to move in slow motion as people shuffled out to their respective floors. She didn’t turn to look at Kakarrot and neither did he make a move to acknowledge her. It was clear from their liaison that they weren’t supposed to know each other but she wasn’t sure what the protocol was for meeting in _public_.

 

She’d _assumed_ that West City was large enough and their circles so vastly different — this wasn’t Fire Mountain, that was home — that she would never accidentally run into the man.

 

And yet, here they were, in the same building, at the same time, for clearly different reasons. She scrambled her mind to remember what was listed on the top floor the brief moment she scanned the tower directory. That was the floor Kakarrot was headed to.

 

Her skin prickled with growing awareness as the elevator emptied itself and to Chi-Chi’s dismay, she realized that the last floor before the top was _hers_. They would have to share the lift until her floor.

 

Someone left for the 23rd floor, two floors before her own.

 

The moment the door closed and the elevator jerked to move up, she was startled to feel Kakarrot grip her upper arm.

 

“You didn’t see me. You don’t know me. _This didn’t happen._ Get out of this building _now_ ,” he hissed urgently behind her ear. She hadn’t heard his voice in _weeks_ but it may have well been yesterday.

 

Chi-Chi’s heart leapt to her throat. “Kakar—”

 

The 25th floor’s sliding doors opened up before she could let another word out and he let her go, already disappearing into the sides of the elevator. She didn’t turn to look at him, she was too terrified — but also angry. So angry.

 

She hadn’t realized she’d frozen in her tracks, her foot forward, when a man’s voice — not Kakarrot’s — startled her out of her reverie.

 

“Your floor?”

 

Chi-Chi scrambled out the elevator in embarrassment, sidestepping to let the gentleman in front of her access to the lift. She couldn’t help, however, to do a double-take. The tall stranger was quite well groomed but had his hair pulled back in an unusually long braid—a sharp contrast to the tailored suit he wore. That, along with the patterned green silk shirt underneath his sharp jacket shouted a predilection for fashion _and_ money. The flashiness was made all the more stark while he stood beside Kakarrot dressed in his signature all-black suit.

 

The man winked in a manner that told her he was used to being ogled; maybe had even _expected_ Chi-Chi’s scrutiny. Instead of feeling charmed, Chi-Chi’s skin crawled. There was something _smarmy_ about this guy, something _off_ — she could have sworn that Kakarrot’s expression darkened witnessing her brief exchange with this braided oddity.

 

She turned swiftly, her face burning, her emotions in a whirlwind of confusion.

  
She faintly caught, _“Meeting with the boss?”_ before the elevator’s doors closed with a decided _ping_.

 

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking around with this story! Your kudos and comments give me life. :)


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Setting up the chess pieces now...

_Five years ago…_

 

Chi-Chi cancelled the next meeting with the Frost Realty agent. Whatever was going on and however Kakarrot was involved, she was smart enough to stay away.

 

Her father was gravely disappointed about dropping her property search, but she soothed him by promising to review properties again with _another_ broker in the near future. Nothing so “fancy” as a Frost Realty agent — that was a genuine statement.

 

Chi-Chi had _already_ taken a lot of extra shifts to work through her mess of emotions, but seeing Kakarrot again in such unsettling circumstances had thrown her off completely. She had _just_ started to convince herself that their “break up” had been the right thing and the strange encounter _should_ have driven that home—

 

— instead, Chi-Chi’s worry for Kakarrot increased tenfold.

 

And she couldn’t do anything about it.

 

So, she did the only thing she _could_ do: throw herself into work more.

 

Bulma even began to notice — which was hilarious since the only reason her friend even noticed was due to her _own_ workaholism. She noted that Chi-Chi showed up at _all_ the same shifts as she was.

 

Chi-Chi gave a believable excuse about trying to log as many hours so she could save up for a better place to buy — that her meeting with the real estate agent had been a “wake up call.”

 

None of that was a lie, which made it easier to say. Still, Bulma was the smartest woman in the world. Chi-Chi noticed her eyes narrow shrewdly in disbelief, but her friend said nothing because — what was there to say? There was nothing to tell, nothing to refute from her statement.

 

Still, Chi-Chi was grateful for the hospital fundraising gala that took up all her extra time outside of her shifts. Normally, it was an annoying chore, especially since she and Bulma ended up being hospital show ponies for the event due to both their fathers influence… but she was happy to distract herself in as many ways possible, and it _was_ for a good cause.

 

On the other hand, Bulma was _in her element,_ Chi-Chi thought with amusement. Bulma was behaving like a conductor in the middle of a concerto at the hotel ballroom — waving her hands authoritatively here and there, firmly giving orders, while people flew around her in a choreographed dance.

 

Every one of the staff seemed to be falling over themselves to impress Bulma with a strange mixture of both fear and love.

 

Meanwhile, Chi-Chi was delegated to dealing with the donated items up for auction. She was currently clipboard in hand, strolling down the long table against the wall, checking off all the gifts promised by several companies when she heard her name.

 

“Ms. Mau, excuse me—”

 

Chi-Chi turned and smiled, her eyes catching Dr. Malaka as he jogged slightly toward her.

 

—Her smile immediately faltered as her eyes landed on the man trotting behind him.

 

 _Oh god, what? The guy from the elevator?!_ Chi-Chi thought hysterically, while she forced her features to remain still and even.

 

“Zarbon, here you go. This is the young lady that will handle the donation,” the affable director of Psychiatry at Wukong said pleasantly, utterly oblivious to Chi-Chi’s sudden discomfort. “Nurse Mau, this is Zarbon Rèptil. He’s here representing Kold Inc.”

 

The tall man inclined his head, stretching his hand out. He looked at her with a predatory gleam — but no real recognition. Though, his eyes narrowed when she hesitated slightly before grasping his hand firmly.

 

“Always a pleasure to meet a beautiful woman,” Zarbon said, in a drawling, lilting tone. His mouth had twisted in a sort-of snarl as he lifted her hand to his lips.

 

 _Ugh, gross,_ Chi-Chi thought, only _just_ preventing her nose from wrinkling in repulsion. She hated guys who came on strong and she didn’t like the way his eyes were rolling over her body like she was naked — she was wearing a stylish jumpsuit for god’s sake. She wasn’t even revealing anything but a triangle of torso.

 

Dr. Malaka burst out into jovial laughter, completely misinterpreting Chi-Chi’s flushed and flustered state. “Oh, Zarbon, be easy on this one. Ms. Mau is a _lady_ and a little bit shy.”

 

Chi-Chi casually pulled back her hand and gave a weak laugh. She surreptitiously wiped her palm against her leg.

 

“Wh-what can I help you with?”

 

 _Maybe this guy isn’t bad..? Just because he spoke to Kakarrot for two seconds doesn’t mean anything…_ Chi-Chi thought uncertainly, flashing a tremulous look toward Dr. Malaka who seemed completely at ease. If Dr. Malaka knew the guy that must mean he was okay? Maybe she had become incredibly paranoid due to her liaison with Kakarrot.

 

“He has a certificate for an all inclusive stay at one of Kold Inc’s international properties in Europe for the donors to bid on,” Dr. Malaka explained, while patting Zarbon on the back.

 

Zarbon lifted a black satin envelope with what looked like a wax seal from his jacket and flicked it back and forth.

 

“Oh!” Chi-Chi exclaimed, momentarily distracted, as she scanned the clipboard in her other hand. “I… there was something like that on this list but the donor was supposed to be anonymous.”

 

“Just call me ‘Nobody,’” Zarbon said easily, flashing her a perfect row of teeth.

 

Everything was “perfect” about this guy — so perfect that there was an _uncanny valley_ feeling about him.

 

Fake.

 

She knew he expected her to make some sort of statement about how he, a man who looked like he did in his ostentatious Dolce & Gabbana suit, could be a nobody — but she didn’t rise to the bait. She smiled as blandly as possible and took the envelope from his hands.

 

“Thank you, Mr. Anonymous. Enjoy the rest of the evening,” she said as politely as she could muster before turning her heel.

 

She heard Dr. Malaka cough in surprise at her rudeness and mutter, “Um, she must be very busy. Chi-Chi is normally a sweet girl...”

 

“Must be overwhelmed by my presence...” she heard the tall man remark without a hint of irony.

 

Chi-Chi pointedly went back to her duties, hoping to not run into him again for the rest of the evening.

 

.

.

.

 

_Now…_

 

This really wasn’t as exciting or revelatory as Goku had hoped.

 

The heart of downtown West City was a zoo, and they were currently stuck in traffic. To his credit, Krillin seemed to be in decent spirits, tapping against the wheel to the pop music playing on his stereo. Goku felt antsy just _sitting_ in the passenger seat.

 

The only positive note was his reunion with Krillin. He’d taken _slight_ satisfaction that their enthusiastic reunion had obviously annoyed Sgt. Piccolo, who told them not to get themselves killed before leaving. Goku was grateful that they had lunch _before_ heading into the heart of the city. If they headed here before food, they would have been stuck for much longer than necessary, hungry and tense.

 

He looked out at the crush of people in their suits moving like they were running from something licking at their heels. Goku pursed his lips as he observed people go about their day. They wouldn’t notice him at all — they were either busy looking at their phones or ahead to whatever destination seemed to be so urgent to arrive at.

 

He must have made a noise or shifted in his seat a certain way because Krillin laughed lightly beside him.

 

“Welcome to West City,” Krillin drawled. “This reminds me that you’d _just_ moved here. You never had a chance to check out downtown?”

 

Goku shook his head. “It was too expensive to even contemplate. I stuck around Chinatown because it was affordable and I never had a chance to explore the rest of this place because… well, you know.”

 

“Any of this _seem_ familiar?” Krillin ventured as he edged the car forward.

 

Goku sighed heavily and shook his head. A lot of the structures seemed _new_ , and anything that wasn’t seemed to be in the middle of construction. That would mean there’d be no reference point.

 

“Do you know if Frieza’s building went through renos?” Goku asked.

 

Krillin flicked him a glance. “No idea, but it’s likely. He’s known for razing old properties and then selling a shiny new place for top dollar. I’d imagine he would want to make his _headquarters_ as fancy as possible.”

 

Goku groaned slightly and rubbed his face. “How would I remember something if it’s completely different from what it used to be?”

 

“Hey, hey, we still have to drive by. And it wasn’t a waste. We got to hang out,” Krillin said with a small punch to his arm.

 

Goku managed a small smile. “Yeah, you’re right. Remembering something just because we drove by on a lark was a long shot anyway.”

 

“And we have other places to visit drawn out the next few days, too, so maybe _this_ doesn’t trigger something—”

 

“—I know, I know,” Goku broke in, with a small rueful twist of his lips. “I know you’re right.”

 

He looked at the throng of busy people going about their day, oblivious that they were steps away from an epicenter of destruction. But wasn’t that how he’d lived his life the past five years? Goku mused to himself.

 

Oblivious. He was no different than anyone walking around their day.

 

“Is this seriously the first day you’ve left Capsule Corp?” Krillin asked suddenly. Goku looked back at his companion. Yeah, he supposed it was. He’d been so head down on this entire investigation, recovering from his injuries, and then there was Gohan and Chi-Chi…

 

“A lot has happened this past month or so,” Goku said after a beat. “I honestly haven’t had a chance to notice. And like Piccolo said, it’s still pretty dangerous for me to wander around.”

 

Krillin tapped the steering wheel thoughtfully as the car inched forward a bit more. “So… how do you get to see your son?”

 

Krilin’s voice was careful and curious, his eyes darting toward him almost guiltily, like he’d overstepped his bounds and yet couldn’t help asking. Goku’s eyes crinkled in amusement. Same ol’ gossipy Krillin.

 

“Chi-Chi brings him over.”

 

“Like supervised visits?”

 

“Not always. Chi-Chi trusts me,” Goku added with a small smile. “I’m very lucky.”

 

At that, Krillin jerked his head toward him in surprise before his attention went back to the slow moving traffic. There must have been something in his tone, because Krillin angled his head slightly.

 

“Lucky, huh? Like… _really_ lucky?”

 

Goku’s brows furrowed. There was something teasing in Krillin’s tone that he didn’t quite understand. At the extended silence, Krillin coughed and ducked his head while gripping the steering wheel tightly.

 

“Ah, forget it, I only met her a couple times but she gave me the impression—it’s none of my business, sorry,” the shorter man said, seeming embarrassed.

 

Goku blinked, as Krillin reminded him of Kame House camaraderie and the way they spoke to each other— “Oh, are you asking if Chi-Chi and I are having relations?”

 

Krillin choked on his breath. “I, uh...”

 

Goku paused to contemplate his next words. Last time they spoke, Chi-Chi seemed okay with friends and family knowing they were together. That they weren’t going to _broadcast_ it per se, but they weren’t hiding it really. Bulma Briefs knew, so that meant close friends were okay...

 

“Yes,” Goku said, simply. What more was there to say?

 

Krillin’s lips began to mimic a fish. After another few moments of stunned silence, Krillin snort-laughed, then proceeded to pat him with one outstretched hand. Though Krillin didn’t add further verbal commentary, Goku knew the gesture was both amused and congratulatory.

 

Goku couldn’t blame him. Despite being cursed with his _situation,_ Goku knew that he was incredibly blessed having Chi-Chi and Gohan in his life.

 

The line of conversation and teasing made Goku miss Kame House more. “We’re talking too much about me. How’re _you?_ How’s the gang?”

 

Krillin sighed gustily and angled him a look. “I’m good, nothing really to report. Everyone misses you. I had to make up some story that you really missed Papaya Island and left. I don’t know if they believed me, but it is what it is.”

 

Goku’s chest twinged. That wasn’t that far off the truth. He missed the days where everything was simpler. Lying on the beach, soaking the rays… enjoying nature, a good hard day’s work using his hands.

 

He stared into a far off point on the horizon. He’d _love_ to take Chi-Chi and Gohan to Papaya Island. Gohan was so curious, he was sure his son would enjoy learning how to fish, how to clean and gut their catch. They would hike all throughout the island, explore trails. He wondered if Chi-Chi would enjoy that, too — he realized with a pang that he still didn’t know her all that well. Everything about her made him feel unbalanced and yet he couldn’t help but feel drawn toward her.

 

But… what did she _like?_ What did she do for _fun?_ What made her really happy?

 

… Could he make her happy?

 

His mind wandered, lost in the possibilities. He would take Chi-Chi and Gohan to Grampy’s house, tell them about Grampy, the islanders and the past five years. He would show them all the secret spots on the island and regale them of his past adventures.

 

When the sun set and their family tour done, Goku could picture taking Chi-Chi and a couple blankets on a thatched roof — after Gohan was in bed, of course — to stare at the stars. Without all the light pollution and clouds like West City, they would be able to make out the constellations clearly. He always enjoyed staring out into the grand sky, thinking about all the possibilities in the universe — would Chi-Chi enjoy that too?

 

Then, when there was nothing but the breeze from the ocean and the rustling of night creatures, they would make love until dawn kissed their skin.

 

Heaven.

 

Maybe some day, Goku thought wistfully.

 

“— it’s coming up quick to your right. Does it ring any bells?”

 

Goku jumped slightly as Krillin’s voice pulled him back to the present and his current circumstance. He quickly looked out the window at the enormous glass structure revealing itself to him.

 

… and nothing.

 

Goku swallowed the heavy disappointment that clenched his throat. “No.”

 

Krillin, oblivious to the enormity of Goku’s emotional state, shrugged easily. “Ah, well. It was a long shot.”

 

Goku nodded slightly, his eyes searching around the area, desperate to see if anything — _anything!_ — would shake a memory loose. He’d come so far, he didn’t want to leave with _nothing_.

 

“I should get out the car...” Goku said faintly.

 

“Huh? What? No! We’re still moving! A-and Sgt. Piccolo said you’re not supposed to wander around!”

 

“I think I need to take a closer look,” Goku went on, his hand already going to the handle.

 

“Wait, Goku, we’re in the middle of traffic—! You’re just going to cause a scene and then what?!”

 

Goku shook his head, angry at himself and at the silly notion that looking at a stupid building would magically make his brain work properly again. “Why did I think this would work?”

 

Krillin reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “Aw, c’mon big guy. Don’t be like that. You’re doing your best. It’ll come back eventually.”

 

Goku knew that the man was just trying to cheer him up, but he’d always known at the back of his mind that there was a possibility he would _never_ remember everything he needed to know. Even with the miraculous treatment and how far he’d progressed, Dr. Briefs and Dr. Korin were just _doctors_ — they weren’t gods. They couldn’t _guarantee_ that this experiment would have a satisfying conclusion.

 

“Well, we tried, I guess,” Goku said, forcing a note of positivity in his tone. He wouldn’t beat himself up over this. Krillin was right: at least he got out of Capsule Corp, had a nice afternoon with a friend—

 

— Goku immediately tensed, as his searching eyes caught something. It wasn’t really hard to miss — _he_ wasn’t hard to miss. As Krillin inched the car forward on the barely moving traffic, Goku observed an extremely tall man surrounded by a small crowd with microphones in his face.

 

It reminded him of the night of the apartment fire —those people were reporters? And the tall man, the one dressed flamboyantly in a brocade blazer, was casually gesturing while he answered questions from the small crowd.

 

“I know him...” Goku muttered quietly.

 

“Huh?” Krillin piped up.

 

“That guy… with the reporters,” Goku said, practically pressing his nose against the window. Krillin looked to the side and back to the traffic.

 

“A-are you sure? You _know_ him?”

 

Goku nodded jerkily. He _recognized_ the guy, there was no doubt about it — and it wasn’t just the showiness or the prominent way he held himself. He had a _feeling_ , a sense of dreadful deja vu.

 

Krillin swore softly under his breath. “Goku… that’s Frieza’s right-hand man.”

 

Goku whirled toward Krillin. “What?”

 

He noticed Krillin’s knuckles go white against the steering wheel. “I almost hoped you _wouldn’t_ remember anything—.”

 

“Who is he?” Goku broke in urgently.

 

“He’s one of the most powerful lawyers in the city, Goku.”

 

Goku turned back to the window and frowned deeply. Something stirred in his thoughts, just beyond reach — was it something he’d read during the last month’s investigation or was it more?

 

Krillin took a deep breath. “That’s Zarbon Rèptil.”

 

.

.

.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hammered it home yet...? Got some clues as to what maaaaybe happened with Kakarrot? Or at least, what started the entire downward spiral?


	38. Chapter 38

_Meanwhile, at Capsule Corp…_

 

The conference room door swished open, causing Piccolo to abruptly stem the conversation he was having on his cell. Bulma crossed her arms and looked around to find the lumbering amnesiac, then frowned when she realized it was just she and Piccolo in the room.

 

“… call you back,” Piccolo said, before lowering his cell phone. “You’re here early.”

 

Bulma often met with Piccolo and Kakarrot _after_ all the sessions with Vegeta to relay information much later in the afternoon, so showing up in the morning was unexpected.

 

“We need to talk,” Bulma said brusquely. She made another sweeping look around the conference room. “Where’s Kakarrot?”

 

Piccolo leaned back in his chair and waved at her. “Don’t worry about it. How can I help you, Dr. Briefs?”

 

Bulma frowned slightly at the dismissal, immediately sensing something suspicious in Piccolo’s nonchalance, but she was dealing with her own shit, so…

 

“It’s been over a month of me and my dad dealing with our _informant_ directly. When are _you_ going to step in?” Bulma asked bluntly.

 

This was how she was going to deal with this — go on the attack. She _wasn’t_ running away, humiliated at her own behavior, after her evening encounter with the Prince. Nope, nope. This was the _smart_ decision, one that she shouldn’t ever have been in the position to make in the first place!

 

“We’ll step in when he stops talking to you or you feel he’s a danger to you. Are either scenarios happening? Both?”

 

Piccolo’s tone was all business, betraying no personal sense of concern. It rubbed Bulma wrong — she and her father were doing the WCPD a fucking _fav_ _or,_ housing Kakarrot _and_ Vegeta, providing them Capsule Corp resources, and putting their personal and professional lives on pause for this!

 

She was also highly irritated in his phrasing since neither scenario was completely true. Yes, Vegeta was a dangerous man but —

 

— Bulma startled internally. Even with all the drama between them, including the recent incident, she felt Vegeta was more of a danger to _himself_ than he was to her.

 

Which, her logical mind screamed at her to dismiss immediately.

 

And yet…

 

Outwardly, Bulma kept her expression even.

 

“I’m not an expert interrogator or detective. I’m a scientist. A _doctor_. I don’t know if I’m wasting my time.”

 

That was _sort_ of true… Though, she _was_ being evasive and judging from the _very_ slight rise of Piccolo’s brows, he noticed.

 

She kept eye contact, unwilling to cower.

 

“Then there’s no point in rocking the boat. If you’ve established trust with him, he’s willing to share, and you feel you’re in no danger — throwing us in could de-stabilize things,” Piccolo said matter-of-factly.

 

Bulma shifted in her Fendi mules. How could she gracefully bow out without looking like a coward or sounding like a total fool? She still had her pride!

 

Piccolo’s expression grew shrewd. “…He said or did something that’s made you _uncomfortable_ and now you’re drawing the line.”

 

That was one way to put it — though it was more her _own_ behavior around the man…

 

How did she get to this point? What had she been thinking? She was normally driven by logic! Yes, she’d been drunk, but she wasn’t _suicidal!_ Visiting Vegeta in the state she was in could only be relegated to _pure stupidity._

 

Bulma nodded curtly, betraying nothing. Piccolo sighed in response.

 

“All right. I don’t want to spook him — can you handle one more day? I have something to get to this afternoon.”

 

Bulma bit her lip. She was sort of hoping to just hand the entire thing off and be done with it.

 

“We’re gaining momentum in this investigation and I don’t want to stop our _main_ source of legitimate information in its tracks,” Piccolo added, noticing Bulma’s discomfort. “Switching it up like this without any sort of warning might derail it all.”

 

Bulma swallowed a sigh. The man had a point, and she had _willingly_ joined this insanity. She had to transition off calmly and professionally. Piccolo couldn’t just parachute in abruptly after all these weeks of building what little twisted “trust” they had.

 

So, with more than a little reluctance: “Okay. Fine. One more day won’t make a difference.”

 

Piccolo nodded, his expression unmoved. “Sounds good.”

 

Bulma resisted the urge to shake the man, to garner more than a twitch of his face that went beyond disinterest or irritation. She comforted herself with the fact that soon, the entire thing would be over — at least her participation — and she could move on with her life.

 

Bulma made a move to leave when Piccolo made a noise.

 

“Oh, wait — for today, ask him about the apartment fire a month or so ago.”

 

Despite herself, Bulma’s curiosity was piqued. “Anything specific?”

 

Piccolo shrugged as he gathered his jacket in his hands. “Verify it was a Frieza op. Get him to name names.”

 

Bulma squared her shoulders and nodded. She was going to end her participation in this investigation with some level of success.

 

One more day wasn’t going to kill her.

 

.

.

.

 

Bulma hated admitting defeat, but it was far stupider to pretend she could handle this by herself. She now knew her father’s presence had given a bit of a buffer; she clearly couldn’t control herself when they were alone.

 

It didn’t really matter if her emotional turmoil was due to Stockholm — and she was starting to wonder if that was even _it_ now after all this time — she was too much of a thrill seeker to properly deal with this rationally. The more she interacted with him, the less she saw him as an objective enemy or a means to an end.

 

Her natural empathy wasn’t an asset here.

 

It definitely wasn’t an asset when Vegeta’s cell revealed itself and her heart started to hammer a staccato beat without reason. He wasn’t doing anything but reading, as usual, one hand propped on knee. The other held a coffee cup he was taking intermittent sips from.

 

She hung her face in slight shame.

 

Just behave like nothing happened, she told herself, when she pressed the microphone and speaker on.

 

“Hey, asshole,” Bulma greeted as she normally did.

 

Vegeta’s lips twitched, the book lowering to his lap. He took a long, leisurely sip of coffee, not turning toward her.

 

Bulma’s _eye_ twitched.

 

He really was an asshole.

 

“I...” Bulma had to pause to clear her throat, because it came out like a squeak.

 

Vegeta’s smirk only spread across his face, as he continue to stare forward and sip his coffee. At this point, Bulma knew she had to take control _ASAP_ , lest she come off like the airhead that he’d originally thought she was.

 

“Look, there’s going to be some changes,” Bulma barked. “I—”

 

“Thought you’d give it a couple more days before you walked me out of here, but sure, today’s a good day as any,” Vegeta interrupted with a casual shrug, finally angling his head toward her direction.

 

“You are delusional,” Bulma said but there was no heat to her words.

 

His only response was to pat the side of his cot, inviting her to sit beside him.

 

Bulma’s fingers jerked a little, her hand automatically headed to the control panel. She had immediately thought to turn off the recording again, to have some _private time._

  
Wrong.

 

So wrong.

 

“I think I’ve given you the wrong impression that we’re friends,” Bulma said calmly and she was proud that she came off cool and collected. “Like I said, there’s going to be some changes.”

 

Vegeta bent a page in his book and sighed, like he was humoring her, his expression bland and unimpressed. “Uh huh.”

 

Bulma locked her jaw. He wasn’t taking her seriously at all.

 

“This has been amusing, but play time’s over. I need you to tell me about that apartment fire,” Bulma barreled on.

 

Vegeta’s response was to cross his arms and tilt his head, a semi-perplexed expression on the angles of his unfairly handsome face.

 

Silence descended.

 

As the seconds ticked by, Vegeta staring at her direction silently with his arms crossed like that, Bulma felt her face begin to heat. She shifted uncomfortably and bit the inside of her cheek.

 

She knew what he was doing.

 

He was trying to get her to break first, to explain her abrupt change in behavior.

 

Instead, Bulma repeated herself, pretending she didn’t understand his angle and went to clarify, “The apartment complex fire that was on TV. The one you saw Kakarrot run into.”

 

Vegeta lifted a hand to rub his chin thoughtfully, his expression unchanging.

 

More silence.

 

Bulma’s patience started to wear thin. “This silent treatment is childish!”

 

He lifted broad shoulders slightly. “ _This_ , how you’re acting. That’s childish.”

 

“Oh, what the hell do _you_ know?!”

 

“I know that last night wasn’t a big deal. Get over it.”

 

Bulma’s lips parted, humiliation flooding her. His indifference just added to her embarrassment. Of course it wasn’t a big deal to _him_. He’d been the one to reject her advances in the first place, and _she’d_ been the giant idiot.

 

Hell, was he even attracted to her? She’d practically tied herself up in a bow and offered herself on a platter.

 

Ugh, this was messed up. She shouldn’t be mad that he turned her down.

 

“There’s nothing to _get over_ because _nothing happened_ ,” Bulma said tightly.

 

Vegeta nodded and pointed at the camera, sarcastically. “Right. Now that’s settled—”

 

He patted the side of his cot again.

 

“We are _not_ friends!” Bulma exclaimed.

 

“Sure,” he said, patting beside him once more.

 

“I’ve come to say good-bye!” Bulma blurted out in frustration.

 

At that, Vegeta’s brows furrowed slightly.

 

“I’m not doing this any more,” she continued, her voice cracking slightly under the strain. “I can’t do this, okay?”

 

The urge to wrench open the door and throw herself into his arms was warring with reality and the need for sanity. It was wrong to want him, wrong to relate to him, wrong to pity him — wrong to _feel anything_ but abject hatred.

 

And in the end, Bulma Brief’s head _always_ won over her heart.

 

“Just… good-bye,” she said finally. She needed to get out of this room, needed to get air and space and _perspective_.

 

Her fingers were hovering just above the microphone when—

 

“There’s an investment group.”

 

Bulma bit her tongue, nearly cursing him out. She wasn’t about to walk away now that he was willing to share information! And he _knew_ it.

 

When his frown deepened she realized he might be wondering if she actually left the room due to her non-response.

 

“Go on,” she prompted hastily.

 

He blinked, the only sign that he was affected by that strange exchange they had.

 

“Are you sure you want to talk about it like this?” he asked, gesturing at the camera and himself.

 

No.

 

“Yes, very sure,” she said firmly.

 

He sighed again, the same way he did earlier when he was trying to humor her. Bland, unimpressed.

  
Still, he hadn’t wanted her to leave.

 

Her threat to go was enough for him to share information.

 

She pressed her palm against her breast bone, willing to slow her heart rate.

 

It didn’t mean anything.

 

“So what about this investment group?” Bulma asked coolly.

 

Vegeta stood up with coffee cup in hand, lazily pacing the room.

 

He was… restless. He did that when he had to think.

 

Did she unsettle him?

 

“Frieza is a builder, but he doesn’t directly purchase properties. He gets _contracted_ by the buyers to build or reno or whatever. That’s how he manages to get more separation between his shit and everything else,” Vegeta went on, his voice betraying nothing.

 

Still, he paced, pointedly looking anywhere but the camera.

 

“He doesn’t like to get his hands dirty,” Vegeta said with a twist of his lips. “He has people like me, the Ginyu team, and all the dirty politicians and cops he can afford. But part of the reason he gets away with so much is the leverage he has against _normal_ people.”

 

“Normal people?”

 

“Dr. Malaka, for one,” Vegeta said, gesturing with his coffee cup. “Decent guy. Helped patch me up a couple times. Completely spineless, but can’t blame him. He has family.”

 

“How did Frieza get his claws on Dr. Malaka in the first place?” Bulma was genuinely at a loss with that. The man was a pillar of the community. What in the world could he have _done_ to get under Frieza’s thumb?

 

“Real estate is an excellent investment when you do it right,” Vegeta drawled. He placed his coffee cup in the sink and turned back to her direction, crossing his arms once more. “Dr. Malaka thought he was going in on some sort of retirement group fund — then, surprise! He’s suddenly a part of an elaborate money laundering scheme. It wasn’t his intention, but that’s not the point. And once you fall into _one_ of Frieza’s traps, he makes you _do things_ that digs you into a deeper hole.”

 

Vegeta grimaced now, clearly relating to this tale. Bulma’s heart twinged.

 

“Now Malaka’s name is tied to all these dirty deals, all these shady _people —_ so if Frieza falls, he falls. That’s basically how the whole empire works. He loses, you lose even more. And Frieza has the means to pick himself back up, but normal people _don’t_.”

 

“The apartment investment group is Dr. Malaka’s investment group,” Bulma murmured.

 

Vegeta inclined his head in confirmation.

 

“Is there a way to —”

 

“Get out? You’re asking _me?_ ” Vegeta’s tone was mocking.

 

Bulma sighed and shook her head. “Who else is part of this ‘investment group’?”

 

“Dr. Planthorr—”

 

“From _Pediatrics!?_ ” Bulma screeched. “Are you _shitting_ me?”

 

“Are you going to let me finish?”

 

Bulma was at a loss. Dr. Malaka had been a giant revelation, but _Dr. Planthorr_ was such a sweet man who _adored_ children! How in the world…?!

 

“Sorry, sorry… please. Go on,” Bulma said, trying to get a sense on how in the world all these people she knew and respected were messed up with Frieza’s empire.

 

“You know, I didn’t even get a nice breakfast for all of this,” Vegeta countered, waving around.

 

“Fine, I’ll get mom to make you something. What do you want?” Bulma said without hesitation.

 

“Breakfast was a euphemism.”

 

Bulma’s face flamed. “Well, that’s all you’re going to get, pervert.”

 

Vegeta tilted his head to the other side. “Wow. One track mind. I was talking about negotiating my terms for release.”

 

He was _lying_ and he wasn’t even being subtle about it, if his extremely amused expression was any indication. He was _enjoying_ riling her up. Bulma kinda hated how her own cheeks twitched at his flirtation, a smile trying to break through despite herself.

 

“We’re not there yet,” Bulma said.

 

“No? You seemed to think I had all my faculties in working order last night.”

 

Bulma frantically slammed her hand over the control panel, switching off the recording. Dammit. She hoped her dad wasn’t watching the live feed!

 

His eye shifted, indicating he noticed the recording light had turned off. After a beat, he gestured ahead of him.

 

“Enough of this. Talk to me like a goddamn adult,” he said sharply.

 

“Last night shouldn’t have happened,” she growled.

 

“I thought ‘nothing’ happened,” he returned.

 

“We shouldn’t even be talking to each other like this,” Bulma said, then leaned her forehead against the clear wall.

 

“No, you should open the door and speak to me in person.”

 

“No, I _shouldn’t_ because you’re a goddamn _criminal.”_

 

He made an impatient sound. “Yes, I am. But I was never meant to stay here forever and you _know_ that.” He lowered his voice. “You’re no better than Frieza.”

 

Bulma jerked back from the wall, shocked and insulted. “How am I anywhere near a despotic crime lord?”

 

Vegeta stalked toward her, surprising Bulma. For a split second, she forgot they were separated until he slammed his palms against the clear barrier, causing Bulma to stumble back.

 

“Open your eyes! I’m locked up in a fucking isolation chamber! And you _know…_ you know how it affects me,” he said bitterly, his hands fisting against the wall. “That’s what all the meds are for. To balance it all out. You know what would actually help? _Letting me out_.”

 

“Don’t act like you’ve done nothing wrong or that you didn’t land yourself in this shit yourself,” Bulma shot back just as angrily, but couldn’t deny his words. She knew that being isolated was not healthy — not for him, not for _anyone —_ but they had little choice. What did he _expect?_ “This might as well be the fucking Ritz Carlton.”

 

He slammed his fists against the wall again. “Stop pretending it’s about that. I’m still here because _you’re_ punishing me.”

 

“You’re goddamn right I’m punishing you,” Bulma exclaimed. “You kidnapped my friend’s son, nearly killed his father, oh, and let’s not forget — you kidnapped and tormented _me_. And that was just _one fucking day_.”

 

“Right. I’m not _still_ here because I rejected a sloppy drunk the night before.”

 

Bulma’s face burned. “You’re still here because of this, right now. You clearly don’t have proper control of your emotions.”

 

He threw his head back, his hands going to his face as he laughed. “ _I_ don’t have proper control? Like last night?”

 

“Th-that— you know what, whatever. I’m done here,” Bulma exclaimed.

 

He slapped the wall again. “We’re not done. You _owe_ me.”

 

“Fuck you. Bye,” Bulma said, slamming her palm against the microphone. She couldn’t do this. She was wrong — one more day _was_ going to kill her. She couldn’t talk to him, she couldn’t handle him.

 

She went to the control panel to switch the recording back on when Vegeta shifted, jumping onto his cot. She gaped, shocked, as she watched him scale the side and suddenly, something glinted from his hand —

 

— holy _shit_ , he had a knife! Or something like a knife — it was long and metal.

 

Bulma gasped, her hands shaking, as she scrambled to press the emergency button. But when her fingers pressed the red protrusion, instead of the alarm going off, the lights flickered. She saw Vegeta furiously digging into the wall, his elbow obstructing exactly what he was doing — the wall was thick enough right? It wasn’t like he could _dig_ out of his prison— no.

 

He’d somehow figured out the cell’s circuitry!

 

— _oh, Bulma, you idiot_ , she thought to herself as the lights flickered again and a high pitched “pop” filled the air. He was a _genius_ , she knew that, her father knew that. He was _alone_ the majority of the time, alone with his thoughts.

 

Alone to plot, and think, and figure out ways to escape.

 

The cell and control room pitched into darkness.

 

She patted her sides only to remember she wasn’t wearing her lab coat, the one with the voltage pen. She hadn’t expected to talk to him at all today, so she hadn’t prepared or dressed for it at all.

 

“ _Don’t think I don’t know how to get out of here on my own, but it does mean using you as a human shield.”_

 

 _You idiot, you stupid, stupid idiot,_ Bulma berated herself, tears pricking in her eyes as she fumbled in the darkness, trying to regain her bearings. If it was pitch black for her, it was true for him, too and maybe she could get out somehow. And someone in security would notice the power was out in a minute—

 

The cell’s door clicked, and she heard him grunt as he manually slid it open. Bulma dropped to her knees and swallowed a whimper, as she tried to quietly move out of the way.

 

“They’re coming, security’s coming in a second,” Bulma said breathlessly, sightlessly.

 

She felt but could barely see Vegeta loom over her. She squeaked when he patted her sides, feeling out her form to verify where she was. He squeezed her arms and pulled her forcibly to her feet. She couldn’t help the strangled, frightened sob that broke from her mouth.

 

The backup alarm began to ring, right on time, exactly a minute after the power had been cut.

 

“Wh-what —”

 

“You know I’m ready to die. Are you?” he asked, coldly.

 

“I hate you,” she choked out.

 

“Walk me out of here and you won’t have to be my shield. I go down, you go down. It’ll be romantic, but I’d rather not.”

 

Bulma reared back, shaking. “I hate you.”

 

“I heard you the first time.”

 

Security’s footsteps started to fill her ears.

 

“Explain this was a malfunction,” Vegeta went on coolly, jerking her suddenly so her body was immediately in front of him and facing the exit — where security was going to burst through any second. “Tell them you planned to let me out but flipped the wrong switch.”

 

His breath was warm against the shell of her ear, causing goosebumps to rise on her neck.

 

A wave of deja vu crashed over her.

 

_Not again._

 

 

“I hate you,” she repeated.

 

His grip on her arm tightened slightly as emergency lights kicked on, exactly the same time her team burst through, guns drawn.

 

In the case of an unknown emergency, tranquilizers were _not_ the default weapon.

 

“Step away from Dr. Briefs!” one of them shouted.

 

Bulma closed her eyes and held her breath.

 

.

.

.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, don't expect this pace from me normally XD. This was just in my brain and had to get out.
> 
> Also, if you thought that was a real quick exit, let's just say Vegeta's been "testing" the entire cell little by little each day, cataloguing where things were. Found a weakness. And waited... I'll probably have him monologue an explanation later, lol. The point is: he CHOSE to stay in the cell once he figured it out.


	39. Chapter 39

_Five years ago…_

 

It was tradition, every year the hospital fundraising gala was held, that Bulma, Lazuli, Leena and Chi-Chi would get rip-roaring drunk to tolerate the normally boring festivities. Then, they would all gather in a hotel suite and have a glamorous girl’s night where they all ordered room service and ate junk while dressed in their designer duds.

 

This year, though, Leena was a newly engaged woman. She brought Doma, her fiance, to the event this year and it was clear she was going to go home to _him_ that night.

 

Bulma apparently had a _giant_ fight with Yamcha just before the gala — which was why he wasn’t in attendance — and she’d resigned herself to go home to try to make up with the man.

 

So it was down to the last single ladies, Lazuli and Chi-Chi, nursing a giant bottle of wine while they sat on the floor of their booked hotel room.

 

“You’re really putting it away tonight,” Lazuli said with a small note of curiosity in her voice. Chi-Chi laughed, but mostly to cover her own discomfort. How did one explain that she had kept a secret lover for months and that a _possible_ associate of his was part of the fundraising ball? And said associate had been trying to start up a conversation with her all night?

 

“And you’ve been taking shifts, left, right and center,” Lazuli went on carefully, while she swirled her wine glass. “Bulma wasn’t the only who noticed.”

 

Chi-Chi felt irritation stir. She didn’t like being talked about behind her back, though she knew that her friends were just concerned about her.

 

“This entire house search is stressing me out.”

 

Lazuli lifted an elegant shoulder, and Chi-Chi drunkenly wished she was Lazuli all of a sudden, able to move through life with a mixture of confidence and nonchalance.

 

“Just borrow the money from your dad and then pay him back. No big deal,” Lazuli pointed out bluntly. Lazuli lifted her hand to stem Chi-Chi’s immediate protests. “No, shut the fuck up. You’re a rich girl and you shouldn’t act like a goddamn martyr about it. Own it. You don’t need to stress yourself needlessly like this just so you can pretend you don’t have a dad who supports you.”

 

Chi-Chi bit her tongue, noting the bitter note that entered Lazuli’s voice. Unlike Bulma and herself, Lazuli had a non-relationship with her father — for good reason. The man had been an abusive parent; she and her twin Lapis had emancipated themselves at the age of sixteen and had been independent since then.

 

“Or, you know, maybe tell me the truth,” Lazuli continued, with a sip. “This isn’t you. What is really going on?”

 

Chi-Chi looked away. “Nothing. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“Is it a man?”

 

Chi-Chi knew that Lazuli was just throwing darts, her drawling voice filled with sarcasm — and maybe it was the alcohol, just weeks of stress and worry, and a good friend hitting the right sore spot, but Chi-Chi immediately burst into tears.

 

“Oh! Ah! Shit,” Lazuli exclaimed in sharp succession. “ _Jesus._ I didn’t expect to be right!”

 

Chi-Chi handed over her glass of wine to her blonde friend so she could wipe the torrent of tears flowing down her cheeks. “I’m so stupid. I can’t talk about it. I can’t.”

 

“Yikes. Okay, chill,” Lazuli said, scrambling to place both their wine glasses on the ledge of the TV stand to awkwardly pat her on the back. Lazuli wasn’t really great at emotional expression, but Chi-Chi knew she cared and it made her almost laugh to witness the normally unflappable woman try to comfort her.

 

“Goddamn, that bad?” Lazuli went on, gathering her into her arms. “Do I need to punch someone in the face? Castration?”

 

Chi-Chi laughed between her tears and shook her head, pulling back. “No, no. _I’m_ the idiot. It wasn’t ever meant to be serious.”

 

Chi-Chi swiped at her cheeks again as Lazuli helped her to her feet to walk her unsteadily to the bathroom. “I feel _so_ stupid.”

 

“We’ve all been there,” Lazuli soothed, rubbing her back when they crossed the bathroom threshold. Chi-Chi tried to gather herself, praying for calm with her shaky breaths.

 

“Even you?”

 

“Okay, not me, but I’m a robot, remember?” Lazuli returned easily, with a small smile. Chi-Chi smiled back tremulously and continued to wipe at her cheeks. She stared at her palms in dismay while they made their way to the expert.

 

“God, do I have mascara all over my face?”

 

“No amount of waterproof protection could stop the dam you just broke.”

 

The blonde was no-nonsense as she calmly pulled a stream of toilet paper and wound it around her palm.

 

Chi-Chi began to wash her hands while Lazuli dabbed at her face with tissue. Chi-Chi eventually took over, trying to get her face clean, if not back to normal.

 

Their little girly tradition was missing two critical people but Chi-Chi was a little grateful at this moment. If she had broken down with Bulma, she would immediately jump into lecture and problem-fixing mode. Leena would start waxing poetic that “there was someone out there” for everyone, and worse, start relaying her love story with Doma for the _nth_ time.

  
But Lazuli?

 

“You just won me $50,” her blonde friend said with a teasing nudge. “Occam’s Razor wins again!”

 

Chi-Chi wiped away the last of her messy makeup. “Huh?”

 

“Briefs is _convinced_ your hymen’s still in tact, despite the fact you dated whats-his-face for two years.” Lazuli seemed pretty proud of herself, crossing her arms as she made her declaration. “She thought your dad was sick — she had some convoluted Briefs-style explanation, but I was: _nope._ Boy trouble.”

 

Chi-Chi blinked rapidly, unsure how to feel with Lazuli’s casual declaration and wondered really if she’d been able to hide _anything_ at all, considering her friends’ conversations.

 

“Great, glad my issues have some use besides crying myself to sleep,” Chi-Chi said flippantly.

 

Lazuli affectionately combed Chi-Chi’s hair back. “You’re welcome.”

 

Chi-Chi smacked her friend’s hand away while biting back smile.

 

Lazuli chuckled lightly. “So. Mystery boy. Spill.”

 

Chi-Chi wished with all her might she could. “It’s over. So what’s the point?”

 

“Right. I get it, but don’t get it,” Lazuli said, cocking her hip to the side. “I mean, you know me and B. We’d be the _last_ to judge booty calls.”

 

Chi-Chi sighed and began to shuffle out of the bathroom. “It’s complicated.”

 

“Try me,” Lazuli said as she followed her back to sit on one of the two queen sized beds in the room. Chi-Chi pressed her lips together and shook her head. Lazuli lifted a brow at her staunch refusal, finally crossing her arms.

 

“I’m making a bigger deal about this than I should. It’s just a classic case of a girl seeing something that isn’t really there,” Chi-Chi said.

 

“You’re not that kind of girl,” Lazuli said flatly, then raised her hand again to stem Chi-Chi’s next defense. “And frankly, the less you say… I haven’t seen any bruises on you, but you _are_ wrapped up like a nun like always—”

 

Chi-Chi gasped at the implication. While Lazuli was trying for flippant, she knew she was trying to seriously gauge whether her silence was cause for concern.

 

“N-No, that’s… that’s not — he’s never put his hands on me like that. No.”

 

“Married. _”_

 

“ _No_. Please, c’mon.”

 

“I’m running out of ideas here. He’s not an uggo is he? Thought you were less shallow than that. Rude, Chi-Chi. _Rude_.”

 

Chi-Chi rolled her eyes.

 

“Bad in bed.”

 

Chi-Chi crossed her arms.

 

“So no to abuse. No to married. _Maybe_ an uggo. Woefully bad sex.”

 

Chi-Chi remained silent, matching Lazuli’s clear gaze, her expression unmoving. Lazuli was just egging her on, and she knew it.

 

“No, this isn’t about _shame_ , is it…?” Lazuli drawled. “He’s probably stunning — and the sex so good, it’s borderline _illegal_.”

 

Chi-Chi hated how her face heated, so she threw a pillow at Lazuli. The blonde just laughed delightedly, kicking her feet.

 

“Bullseye,” Lazuli retorted, while blocking oncoming pillow shots from Chi-Chi. “And it’s all shrouded in secrecy because… you’re his sub and he’s forbidden you to speak.”

 

“Oh, my god!”

 

“Do you have to call him _master?_ ”

 

Chi-Chi grabbed another pillow and tried to smother Lazuli.

 

.

.

.

 

“Hey, baby bro.”

 

“I am _five_ minutes younger than you. Why are you whispering? And why are you calling me at…” Pause. “… 2:30 in the morning?”

 

“Look. I’m worried about my girl.”

 

“… well, I never expected you to come out to me over the phone—”

 

“It’s Chi.”

 

“Plot twist. What’s going on?”

 

“She’s seeing someone in secret and I want to know _who._ ”

 

“I’m hanging up.”

 

“Lapis Gero.”

 

“Ooh, serious voice.”

 

“Lapis.”

 

“She is a grown-ass woman _. Why_ does it matter who she’s seeing?”

 

“She says he hasn’t hurt her _like that_ , but I don’t know.”

 

“… Jesus Christ… are you certain?”

 

“No. I’ve never seen her act this way. She’s never hid anything before, so I can’t take her words at face value. I need proof.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“So you’ll help me?”

 

“Fuck. Of course. No one touches one of ours. What do you need me to do?”

 

“She was pretty damn vague about it all, so I need some recon.”

 

“Good thing your brother works for the FBI, huh?”

 

“I have a few hunches, considering Chi’s life consists of work and us. I’ll have a few names that I’d like you to run through.”

 

“… why didn’t you want to join the academy again? You could be doing this yourself.”

 

“I hate paperwork.”

 

.

.

.

 

_Present Day…_

 

 

Since Krillin’s place was closer than Capsule Corp plus there was rush hour to consider, it made sense to stop by to take a breather. It was Goku’s original “safe house” when all this drama started.

 

Poor Krillin … he always seemed to catch him in his most vulnerable moments, Goku thought. Which was why he was so grateful that the man seemed to be an unending well of empathy.

 

“Here you go, big guy,” Krillin said gently, handing him a glass of water.

 

Goku had kept it together all the way to his apartment while his mind ran a mile a minute. But, the moment he was safely through the threshold, he beelined to Krillin’s couch, calmly picked up a pillow, and promptly screamed into the cushion.

 

… before tearing it in half with his bare hands.

 

Goku felt a little embarrassed at his muffled outburst, actually. He knew he scared Krillin and it made him feel guilty. The last thing he wanted was to alienate his _only_ friend.

 

“Sorry about that,” Goku said after a few gulps of liquid. He ineffectually smoothed down the torn pillow seam to give his hands something to do.

 

“Honestly, pretty mild and _totally understandable_ reaction,” Krillin said with a lopsided smile. “Considering the entire taking down an international criminal organization thing.”

 

Goku dropped his head onto his hand, laughing a little. “Right?”

 

Krillin puffed his cheeks out and seemed to consider his next words. “Goku, you’re still recovering from _major_ injuries. It’s only been a month since you found out your real name, since you almost _died_. Maybe you need to slow down. Until—”

 

“— until the never ending lineup of enemies whittle down?” Goku interrupted with another laugh. He _had_ to laugh because he could feel his stomach churning and his throat closing up with anxiety. He flexed his hands against the pillow he’d screamed into.

 

Krillin shrugged helplessly.

 

“I’ll get you a new pillow,” Goku promised.

 

Krillin’s reaction was to huff and wave his hand. “Nah, it’s okay. I didn’t like that pillow anyway.” He tapped his fingers restlessly against the coffee table he was squatting beside. “Hey, when does Sgt. Piccolo expect you back?”

 

“Sometime before dinner. 5 or 6-ish I think.”

 

Krillin nodded, then patted him on the knee. “Wait here. I think I have something that might help.”

 

He watched as Krillin walked to the kitchen and riffled through his cupboards. After a few short moments, Krillin was back with what looked like… pens? Colorful pens? But they didn’t seem like normal pens...

 

Krillin handed him one of the cylinders. “This is a vape pen.”

 

Goku’s brows furrowed. A what?

 

“It’s not tobacco. It’s for… the other stuff.”

 

“Oh?”

 

.

.

.

 

Whatever Krillin gave him was magic.

 

He wasn’t… well, _happy_ would be stretch due to the circumstances. But he was super relaxed, his mood _much_ better, as he Googled Zarbon Rèptil on Krillin’s laptop. He would have to follow up and do a deeper search in WCPD databases and his old notes, but he just wanted to get a primer on the man they called the “right hand” of Frieza.

 

It wasn’t really hard to find info — the man was a media darling. While he was a _lawyer_ , he seemed to take on several roles for Kold Inc. and handled a lot of their PR. One moment he was commenting on a contentious court case about displacing low-income tenants, the next he was on something called “Fashion Police” where he disparaged various people’s dress.

 

It baffled Goku how someone who worked for such an evil man and carried out his dirty legal work was so beloved by the public. It was clear he was quite popular. While he was still struggling to remember how he knew the man, he knew inherently Zarbon was bad news.

 

“Why do people like him?” Goku asked aloud. Krillin paused mid-inhale and tilted his head back and forth.

 

“I don’t know. I think he’s obnoxious but some people find him attractive and charming,” Krillin said as he exhaled, fragrant smoke billowing around his head. “That’s his schtick. Lipstick on a pig. Word on the street is he isn’t just a pretty face with a sharp mouth. I heard he gets his hands dirty, too.”

 

At that, Goku turned his attention all on Krillin. “What do you mean?”

 

“I mean he’s a full service career criminal. He’s not someone who stays on the sidelines. Blood’s on his hands.”

 

Goku narrowed his eyes shrewdly. “How connected are you still to ‘the street?’”

 

At that, Krillin laughed. “Oh, I forgot we never had a conversation about Kame House and what we’re really all about besides dumplings.” He put his vape down. “Goku, Kame House is part of a job training program. We help people move beyond difficult situations like homelessness, poverty, and incarceration by providing them skills and tools to become independent and employed.”

 

Goku’s lips parted in delighted surprise. “That’s awesome.”

 

“It’s pretty fulfilling,” Krillin acknowledged. “But it does mean our entire crew hasn’t always been on the up-and-up. And while we’re all past that life now… our reality is that we still _know_ people that are mixed up in things they shouldn’t be. And we read between the lines whenever something’s on the news. So, I’d say we’re still pretty connected at least on a superficial level.”

 

“Oh, wow,” Goku breathed, not sure what to say. Everyone at Kame House seemed rather… well, what did a struggling person or criminal look like anyway? They could be anyone. And in the end, he was no different. He worried his bottom lip as an idea came to him. “Were any of them _ever_ mixed up with the Kolds?”

 

“I don’t know. I don’t pry too much about what brought them over to the restaurant since it’s usually painful. Tien and Chaotzu might have some perspective, though. They’re the ones who made all the Zarbon comments.”

 

Goku felt a little awkward about the next question, but he had to ask. “Can… they be trusted?”

 

Krillin flashed him a small, understanding smile. “If you’re wondering whether you could let them know about your… _situation_ … while asking about the Kolds? I trust them with my life.”

 

Goku nodded slowly, smiling back. “Okay. I’ll have to run it by Sgt. Piccolo but I think it makes sense to get more perspective on this while my brain catches up.”

 

Krillin grinned widely. “Sounds like a plan. See? The afternoon wasn’t a total wash.”

 

Goku ruffled his hair. “Yeah, I guess so.”

 

“Not ‘I guess so.’ Again, it’s only been a month and you, what? Are on first-name basis with the richest family in the world, fought off a crazed assassin then recovered pretty much over night — _and_ you got the girl! I mean, I definitely don’t want your life, but I… _sorta_ do?”

 

Goku burst out laughing. Krillin always had a way to make him feel better and at ease.

 

An unfamiliar ringing startled them both mid-laugh. Goku threw his hands up and chuckled when he realized it was the burner phone that Piccolo outfitted him with.

 

“Probably checking as to why we aren’t back yet,” Krillin said while Goku lifted the receiver to his ear. It _was_ nearing 5 now…

 

“ _Where are you?!”_ Sgt. Piccolo’s sharp tone barked. Normally, Goku would be annoyed but whatever Krillin had him smoke only made him laugh in response.

 

“I’m at Krillin’s, doing some research—”

 

“ _Get your ass back here! We have a situation.”_

 

Goku immediately sobered, straightening in his seat. Krillin gestured curiously at him, noticing the immediate change in his body language.

 

“What’s going on?”

 

“ _The Prince. He’s out.”_

 

_._

_._

_._

 

 


	40. Chapter 40

_Earlier, Present Day…_

 

Chi-Chi finished disinfecting the awful gash on the young boy’s knee while his mother hovered worriedly.

 

“He’s going to need some stitches, but he’s okay,” Chi-Chi said soothingly, smiling at the mother. A movement caught Chi-Chi’s eye, just outside the curtain surrounding the hospital bed.

 

A familiar, handsome face came into view — but he had an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face as he walked brusquely past.

 

“Dr. Norimaki will be back in one second to check on him,” Chi-Chi said distractedly. She drew back the curtain — she would recognize that gorgeous head of hair anywhere!

 

“Lapis!” Chi-Chi called out, raising her hand to wave.

 

The tall, lithe man turned and Chi-Chi stifled a giggle at the movement — the man was a cover model come to life, with his dark, almost shoulder-length hair, combed back in a strangely perfect tousle.

 

He even had a hand inside the pocket of his tailored pants as he turned. Chi-Chi was sure most men didn’t have that many open top buttons of their dress shirt, at least not for work. An FBI agent shouldn’t be that _criminally_ good looking.

 

His expression immediately brightened, the heaviness leaving his startling blue eyes as he caught Chi-Chi’s wave.

 

“Princess,” he drawled.

 

He was the only other person besides Kakarrot that enjoyed teasing her with her old nickname.

 

She didn’t mind.

 

 _If he wasn’t gay…_ Chi-Chi thought for the hundredth time. It had been a reflexive thought, something that Lazuli’s twin always triggered when he was around. She had a really bad habit for liking tall, dark, emotionally unavailable men, Chi-Chi thought wryly.

 

Still, the thought wasn’t followed by a thread of melancholy this time… she had Kakarrot back.

 

Goku.

 

She shook her head. Still so confusing.

 

She walked toward him and smiled at Dr. Norimaki who Lapis had been chatting with. “The boy on Bed 16 is ready for his stitches.”

 

Dr. Norimaki nodded and patted Lapis on the shoulder. “Let me get to this and we’ll continue our conversation in a bit.”

 

Lapis rolled back on his heels, jiggling the security ID on his hip with the hand inside his pocket. “Take your time.”

 

As Dr. Norimaki walked past, Lapis turned to gather Chi-Chi in a hug. “Hey, beautiful, how’re you? Long time no see.”

 

“That’s your fault,” Chi-Chi pointed out with a small squeeze. “You know where I am.”

 

Lapis pulled back and rubbed her arms affectionately. “I do. How’s my son?”

 

Back when she had surprised everyone with her pregnancy, it had become a running joke that Gohan was his. Since the news was apparently so uncharacteristic, their friends began to ask “what next” — and that started all the joking about miracles and Lapis giving up his “gold star status”…

 

… which somehow morphed into being Chi-Chi’s baby daddy.

 

Strangely, Lapis was the one who started the entire rumor. He seemed to _actively_ want people to assume that Gohan was his, though it was all obviously a joke.

 

“Good. Your kid,” she said with a teasing note, “is very smart. I’m thinking of signing him up for a class for gifted children next year.”

 

“That’s my boy,” Lapis said with a genuine smile. “Just make sure he doesn’t grow up to be a weirdie.”

 

Chi-Chi smacked his arm and he laughed. “You and your sister. You’re always making it seem like I’m raising a bubble boy.”

 

“Aren’t you?” Lapis returned, jiggling that ID badge again.

 

“I signed him up for martial arts classes, okay?” Chi-Chi defended, a little piqued. She knew he was teasing but she was a bit sensitive when people criticized her parenting. She huffed while Lapis smirked. “Anyway, I gotta get back to work.”

 

“Yeah, of course. Let’s have dinner soon sometime? Catch up?” Lapis said as he bent over to kiss her cheek. She still blushed a little at the gesture.

 

“Sure, of course. Lazuli has been bugging me about another home cooked dinner party to get the gang together,” Chi-Chi said.

 

A small line grew between his brows but he smiled all the same at her response. “Sure.”

 

He didn’t really say or do anything odd, but Chi-Chi sensed a strange shift in his attitude. But, before she could think about it further, she heard the tell-tale bang of a gurney through the swinging doors.

 

“Talk soon!” Chi-Chi called, not noticing Lapis’ smile slowly fade from his face as he watched her jog toward the chaos in the ER.

 

.

.

.

 

_At the same time, Capsule Corp..._

 

Bulma’s eyes flew open.

 

She lifted her chin, then raised her hand authoritatively. Vegeta’s grip on her arms flexed at her movement, but he maintained his hold.

 

“Drop your weapons! This is an _incredible_ overreaction. Did you want to pop off the woman signing your checks?!” Bulma managed through grit teeth.

 

In a split second, she went with the _only_ logical option that would keep her and her staff safe — for now. While the odds of multiple armed men against one unarmed man were in her favor, she couldn’t discount the fact that she was _in the line of fire_ and that they were in an enclosed space.

 

Who knew what the _lunatic_ behind her was capable of?

 

He managed to escape _a Capsule Corp_ enclosure her genius father built and she _didn’t_ forget that he had some thin metal object on his person. She didn’t want to be shanked right before she was shot! She knew it would only take seconds.

 

Dammit.

 

Vegeta’s grip on her arms loosened slightly.

 

Her security shifted, but didn’t drop their weapons. “But, Dr. Briefs —”

 

“I am _perfectly_ safe.”

 

 _I’d like to thank the Academy..._ Bulma mused idly. It was interesting how very similar she felt right now to working at the ER — her mind was sharp, calm, focused only on next steps.

 

She almost felt disconnected from the entire situation.

 

Her raised hand did not shake.

 

She even lifted her other arm, as if to protect the man behind her. It probably looked comical, with her slight, unarmed figure, trying to shield this monster of a man. At that, Vegeta’s arms dropped but he moved _impossibly_ closer to her. He might as well have plastered himself against her back.

 

“After further examination, I concluded that it was time to let our… _guest_ leave. Because this is unprecedented, I flipped the power switch instead of the unlock button by accident. And since the result was a blackout, I couldn’t rectify the situation fast enough. _Now drop your weapons!”_

 

Her last command was practically a shriek — and still, she didn’t shake.

 

Her men ducked slightly at the force of her voice, their weapons lowering.

 

“I’m going to have a talk with my father about this protocol. How in the world would this type of response guarantee our safety?” Bulma went on waspishly, finally lowering her hand. She waved her other arm dramatically and sidestepped Vegeta like she was in a _Broadway_ show, so he could be in their line of sight.

 

His finger twitched and he flashed her a side eye.

 

For a moment, she wondered if this was _it_ , her opportunity to let the whole facade drop. Her dramatics bought her a little time, but her staff’s guns were now down. How long would it take for her to command them to take Vegeta down before he could react?

 

“All right, everyone, fall back,” the leader of the group said, sounding exasperated. He grimaced at Bulma and pointed at her patronizingly. “I will have a talk with _leadership_ about this.”

 

Bulma was immediately outraged, completely forgetting the immense danger she was in for a moment. “Excuse me? Last I remember _my_ name was Bulma Briefs. What’s yours?”

 

She didn’t wait for his reaction to stomp forward and grasp the embroidered name on the fabric of his uniform. “ _Tsubasa._ Good to know.”

 

 _Do it,_ her logic told her. _Tell them to shoot. Hide behind this stupid guy._

 

Bulma clenched her fist against the trained, armed man in front of her.

 

_Grab the gun, then turn and finish him off yourself._

 

Seconds seemed like hours.

 

Then:

 

With a hammering heart, Bulma pushed the man in front of her in a show of disdain.

 

… _I’d like to thank my management, the incredible cast and crew…_ Bulma thought faintly.

 

Tsubasa cleared his throat and arranged his vest after Bulma’s theatrics, while his team looked around uncertainly.

 

“What’re you all waiting for?” Bulma exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. “I can’t comfortably brief our guest and prep him for transition while you wave your weapons around.” Her mind was racing. “If you’re all so worried, go ahead and contact Sgt. Piccolo while you’re at it. He’ll know what this is about.”

 

Tsubasa sighed, flicking a final look behind her.

 

“Fine. I wash my hands,” he added as he motioned everyone to fall behind him.

 

Bulma clenched her fists and watched the men that could have saved her walk away.

 

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there silently, after the door closed behind the last of her security.

 

Eventually, she turned, carefully, slowly, schooling her expression to neutral.

 

Vegeta was leaning against the back wall, arms crossed, ankles crossed, like he hadn’t a care in the world. His expression was inscrutable.

 

They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity before the dark man pushed off the wall, then gestured to the exit.

 

“Shall we?”

 

Something in Bulma snapped. Before her mind could catch up, she closed the space between them, threw her arm back and punched him straight across the jaw. Pain immediately shot up her arm and she cried out as his head snapped back at the force of her punch.

 

He barely made a noise; a small grunt.

 

“Fuck,” Bulma gasped, tears springing back to her eyes as she cradled her hurt right hand.

 

The man sighed, a long-suffering sound, as he calmly straightened himself and ran a hand through his flame of hair. Bulma blearily noticed that she’d drawn blood as he darted his tongue out to dab against the cut on his lip.

 

“All right? Got that out of your system?” he asked calmly, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred, like he hadn’t threatened her life. Like she hadn’t just fought for her safety or the safety of her staff with the performance of a lifetime—!

 

She’d whipped her arm back again but he caught her wrist easily this time.

 

“No need to break your hand on my behalf,” he said evenly.

 

“I hate you. I swear to _god._ ”

 

“No, you don’t. That’s the problem, isn’t it?” he returned matter-of-factly, as his eyes raked over her face. She felt like he’d peeled off her skin. She flushed under his scrutiny and didn’t want to admit what he was baldly pointing out.

 

She tried to pull her arm out of his reach but he held firm.

 

“They wouldn’t have shot you, you know,” he said.

 

“ _You_ could have stabbed me!”

 

He shook his head. “I could have done a lot of things. I just stood there. You did everything else.”

 

She was damaged, she realized numbly. She was fucked up beyond belief.

 

“I’ll teach you how to punch properly,” he said.

 

It was such an odd statement, so out of left field that all Bulma could do was gape at him. He startled her by sighing again, then lifting the hand he held to his lips, brushing her knuckles softly with his mouth.

 

 _I am damaged,_ Bulma thought again, as her pulse increased and it _wasn’t_ from fear.

 

She jerked her hand away from his and this time he let her go.

 

A drop of sanity prevailed, so she glared at him angrily. “So, what, you expect to just waltz out of here _after breaking out of your prison?_ ”

 

“I wasn’t going to let you _keep_ me in there because you can’t be honest with yourself. How’re those mental gymnastics going? Exhausting,” he countered sharply, his arms crossing.

 

Bulma pressed her lips together, her cheeks suffusing with color. He had a _point_ but—

 

“Take some personal responsibility.”

 

Bulma’s jaw went slack. “H-how _dare_ you talk about personal responsibility!”

 

“I realized you were never going to let me out on your _own_ judgment and accord — not when you blame me for how _your_ loopy mind works,” he said bluntly. “Let me point out which one of us was _trapped in an isolation chamber_ and which one has all the power.”

 

He gestured at himself and then back at her in the most sarcastic movement.

 

Bulma flashed him a two-fingered salute.

 

“Own it,” he added softly, surprising her. At her flabbergasted look, he lifted a brow challengingly.

 

Bulma had no idea where he was going with this. “Huh?”

 

“You _know_ I can’t walk out of here safely… without you.”

 

Bulma massaged her sore hand, contemplating his words with bemusement. She observed the side of his face start to bloom with color, a small bruise forming by his mouth. He followed her gaze and his tongue darted out again to the injury, almost reflexively.

 

“Walk me out of here,” he practically purred.

 

She closed her eyes briefly, suppressing the small shudder his velvety voice elicited. When she opened her eyes, Bulma’s chaotic mind started to organize as Vegeta’s words landed.

 

He was right.

 

If he harmed her, it was only a matter of time for their security to put him down. If he left her alone, but walked away by himself — more likely, security would _still_ put him down.

 

If he wanted to get out of Capsule Corp alive, he _needed_ her.

 

She realized that meant he wanted to _live._

 

“You give me something, I give you something,” Bulma said, meeting his gaze unflinchingly.

 

The uninjured side of his mouth quirked.

 

.

.

.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, don't expect this pace from me normally. LOL. I'll probably disappear for a couple months again — big work stuff coming along... and writing is my procrastinating stress relief. But I'll have to be head down for a while.
> 
> ... though your kudos and comments HAVE motivated me to post faster than possible, so... *hint hint* ;-)


	41. Chapter 41

_Five years ago…_

 

“So? Verdict?”

 

“How’d you narrow down the list to these five anyway?”

 

“Cross-checked all the men that logged in the ER, between the ages of 20-35, narrowed it down by height, weight, and hair color. Limited date parameters by 6 months just to be safe. Then, I Google’d their names to find pics and sorted through a lot until I found the ‘hot’ ones. Who knows, though — some of the pics were pretty old.”

 

“Wow.”

 

“Chi-Chi has a _type_.”

 

“I actually have a day job investigating, you know, _murder._ ”

 

“I’m worried.”

 

“If you’re really that—”

 

“I am.”

 

“My professional opinion? This list is pretty much random bullshit I can’t do much with.”

 

“You promised you’d help.”

 

“Yeah, but I can’t do anything with useless information you pulled out of your ass playing True Detective.”

 

“So we can’t do anything.”

 

“Just talk to her.”

 

“If it were that easy… _you_ talk to her. Use your gay best friend powers or something.”

 

“Yeah, first: extremely offensive. Next, Chi-Chi is _your_ friend — what makes you think she’d tell _me_ anything?”

 

“She’s sorta had a crush on you for years.”

 

“Serious?” Pause. “Oh, that sweet, misguided woman…”

 

“Probably because your dick is non-threatening.”

 

“As your brother, I forbid you to refer to my penis in any shape or form.”

 

“Lapis.”

 

“I don’t get how _that_ would make her tell me who she’s been fucking on the down low.”

 

“I don’t know, I’m running out of ideas. You promised to help.”

 

“Just because you’re paranoid this is _more_ than just a fuck-and-chuck —” 

 

“Chi-Chi _would never—”_

 

“I’ve been in this business _long enough_ to know that we have _no_ fucking clue what goes on in people’s twisted brains. You think you know someone.”

 

“I know Chi-Chi.”

 

“Does she know what happened to _us?_ ”

 

“… a little.”

 

“Case. Point. The bottom line: do you believe she’s in _danger?_ ”

 

“… I don’t know. All I know is that she’s never hid anything before. She’s never _lied_ before.”

 

“Sis, everyone lies.”

 

“Not Chi-Chi.” Pause. “Please.”

 

“… all right, fine.”

 

“Fine? What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“I’ll… tail her a few days and see if she interacts with anyone suspicious. That’s the best I can do here.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“I bet you fifty bucks this is probably nothing.”

 

“I really hope so.”

 

“When she finds out we’re invading her privacy like this, I wash my hands of all responsibility.”

 

“She won’t find out.”

 

“… Everyone lies, sis. Everyone lies.”

 

.

.

.

 

 

_Present day…_

 

 

When Chi-Chi opened the door of her father’s apartment to pick Gohan up after her super long shift — she’d done a double shift to make up for the time she spent off to be with Goku — the Ox King was already at the entrance, arms crossed.

 

“Uh oh,” Chi-Chi joked. “Gohan had a bad day?”

 

“No, he was great. He’s napping right now. I need to talk to _you,”_ Papa said, gesturing for her to follow. Chi-Chi frowned slightly in confusion. What was this about?

 

When Papa interlaced his fingers in front of him as he sat at the kitchen table, Chi-Chi’s mind began to race. That was his _something serious to say_ pose.

 

“What’s going on Papa? Are you okay? I told you that you needed to slow down and start thinking about retirem—”

 

At that, some of the sternness in her father’s expression eased. He smiled slightly and uncrossed his fingers. “I’m fine, my dear. I—” He sighed and shrugged. “Is there something you’re not telling me, Chi-Chi?”

 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Chi-Chi said, though a pit of unease began to form in her belly.

 

“Gohan has said … a few interesting things these past couple of days and when I asked him about it, he threw a tantrum,” her father said, carefully.

 

Chi-Chi swallowed, saying nothing. _Oh, no._ Did Gohan…? He was just a little boy. How could she have expected him to keep such a large secret? And Papa was Gohan’s _favorite_ — the primary male figure in his life.

 

Until recently.

 

Her father heaved another breath and shook his head. “Chi-Chi… when you told me you were pregnant with Gohan, to say I was shocked would be an understatement. And you’re my little girl… I hate to see you cry. I hate to see you hurt. So I stopped asking about his father.”

 

Already Chi-Chi felt pressure build behind her eyes.

 

“And anyone who’d leave _my_ little girl like that, who didn’t think the sun shone through her eyes— A man who’d abandon _his son—_ I wouldn’t want a man like that to have _any_ part in our lives,” Ox went on, his voice calm and even, but his dark eyes were swimming with emotion.

 

“Papa—”

 

“Is Gohan’s father back? And you introduced him to Gohan… but not to _me?_ Why? Did you think I’d grow violent? Or… prevent it from happening? _”_

 

Chi-Chi couldn’t stop a couple of tears falling from her eyes. “Papa, you don’t understand. It’s so complicated. It’s not what I wanted at all.”

 

Her large father’s eyes took its own tell-tale sheen. “I think you owe me a name.”

 

Chi-Chi bit her lip. “I… Papa…”

 

“It’s always been you and me against the world, baby girl. But I’ve given you a lot of leeway because of that. I think you owe me _more_ than a name. You owe me an _explanation._ ”

 

She wrenched her eyes away — she couldn’t bare to look at the pain and confusion shining from her father’s eyes. She should tell him. Everyone else in their circle knew. This was her father after all.

 

As she stared down at her toes, she whispered:

 

“Kakarrot Korzen.”

 

He actually jumped in his seat. “Bardock’s boy?!”

 

At her father’s surprised exclamation, Chi-Chi raised her eyes. “Y-you remember them?”

 

“Yes, of course. Your mother—” he paused, as his breath hitched. He hardly ever referenced Chi-Chi’s mother directly these days. That was something they both had in common — the less said, the less hurt. “Your mother was good friends with Bardock’s wife, Gine, when you were very small.”

 

“I… I know,” Chi-Chi said quietly. “We… we were _all_ friends.”

 

“But… growing up, you weren’t part of each other’s… _circles…”_ her father said delicately. “He’s… the Korzens. They’re— his brother is—”

 

Chi-Chi’s cheeks darkened, knowing where her father was going with this. The Korzens were cursed. Their sons were cursed. And now, she just told her father that his grandson was sired by their youngest.

 

“But _how_ is that possible _?!_ Right before?” her father breathed. “He doesn’t even remember—” Abruptly, her father clamped his mouth shut, the blood draining from his face. “Oh, no.”

 

Chi-Chi blinked rapidly. “Wait. _Wait_. What do you mean _‘he doesn’t even remember?’_ ”

 

“Oh, god. _Chi-Chi_ ,” her father’s voice was filled with horror. “How… I never… if I _knew…_ but I don’t know if I would _change—”_

 

Chi-Chi’s eyes widened, her jaw loosening. “You… you _know_ about his memory condition! _How_ do you know a-about…? Papa? What—?”

 

“Grandpa Gohan,” the Ox King said abruptly, causing Chi-Chi to have mental whiplash. What _about_ her father’s mentor and adoptive dad — whom _she_ considered her grandfather and loved enough to name her son after him?

 

“Five years ago… do you remember? You know how Papa Gohan always took in strays. Myself included… and…” Papa trailed off, raising his hand, his eyes wide with shock.

 

“Papa…? What’s going on? What does Grandpa Gohan have to do with this?”

 

“Five years ago, Bardock Korzen came knocking at my door,” the Ox King explained, stunning Chi-Chi. “He was… this was the first time I’d seen him in years. He _begged_ me for help. His son… his _youngest_ son… was in some sort of trouble, different from his eldest. He said I was the most powerful man he knew, but he wasn’t asking for money — he was asking for _shelter.”_

 

Chi-Chi’s hands went to her cheeks. “What?”

 

“Not for himself — for his son. Kakarrot.”

 

No.

 

Life wasn’t this cruel, was it?

 

_Decade after decade, he dangled in front of her, just out of reach…_

 

“I thought of Papa Gohan immediately. Papaya Island is sleepy, safe—”

 

At this point, Chi-Chi began to tune out, her mind searching for clues how this happened right under her nose without her knowing. Then again, no one besides her had known the identity of Gohan’s father for _years…_ she realized her father was still talking, so she forced herself to listen.

 

“I helped Bardock set it up, but I suppose something went wrong. As far as I know, Kakarrot ended up on Papaya Island eventually — Papa Gohan took him under his wing. He was hurt, lost his memory, but we both agreed that it was for the best so your grandpa pretended he didn’t know who he was. But I’m sure Papa Gohan told you about him, especially during his visits to West City—”

 

Chi-Chi covered her mouth, trying to stem an onslaught of tears. Grandpa Gohan had _indeed_ told her about a man he was helping out on the island — but that was _normal_ to her, she hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. Grandpa Gohan’s life’s work was to help others. He’d been a missionary monk at one point, traveling around the world, helping others. If it wasn’t for Grandpa Gohan, her own father’s life would have gone off the rails.

 

Never in a million years had Chi-Chi considered that the man Grandpa Gohan had taken in was the father of her child.

 

The gods were playing a trick, she was convinced now.

 

Her father gasped, as if he suddenly realized something. “And he’s found his way back to West City? _Why?_ Chi-Chi, you have no idea what he’s involved with—”

 

“He’s an undercover officer, Papa,” she interrupted, immediately wanting to set the record straight. Even though she _had_ thought the worst of him when they’d been together, she wanted to make sure her father knew that she wasn’t exposing herself and her son to a hardened criminal.

 

At that point, a million expressions crossed his face. “ _What?_ ”

 

“He’s staying with the Briefs right now. I’ve been taking Gohan there to see him,” Chi-Chi confessed. She thought telling the truth, _finally_ , would ease some of her guilt, but instead she felt stupid for hiding it in the first place.

 

Now saying it out loud made her wonder why she bothered hiding it at all.

 

This was her _beloved father_ after all. He hadn’t always lived a pristine life. He could have… he _would_ have understood. He helped out an old friend shepherd his delinquent son out of the country based on desperate cry for help — Chi-Chi should have known better.

 

Guilt and regret coursed through her.

 

At that, Ox Mau’s lips drew to a thin line. “I am going to have a strong talk with Boxa about this.” He whirled back at her. “Why didn’t you come to me all those years ago? Why didn’t you come to me _now?_ ”

 

She heard the frustration and hurt in her father’s voice and it broke her heart. “I… I don’t… I was scared. For him, for me. I didn’t say anything to anyone because I didn’t want him to get hurt for opening my mouth.”

 

“Chi-Chi.”

 

“I was _ashamed_ ,” Chi-Chi burst out, tears streaming down her face, the real crux of it all bubbling forth. Her father’s opinion meant the world to her and thinking she had thrown everything away for the wrong person— “I didn’t… I didn’t know he was a cop back then, but I couldn’t stop… I loved him. Even with every bad thing I thought he did, I  _still_ loved him. I loved him so much. I know you’re ashamed of me—”

 

“Ashamed? Oh, baby girl, no no no. Disappointed, yes. Ashamed? Never!” Her father gathered her in his enormous embrace.

 

“He's a good man, he is. He _loves_ Gohan, I know he does. He’s really _good_ with him—” she sobbed against her father’s chest.

 

“This is… what am I going to do with you…?” her father murmured while stroking her hair.

 

Abruptly, they both turned at the sound of shuffling feet.

 

Gohan stood at the threshold of the kitchen, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “Mama…?”

 

Hastily, Chi-Chi wiped her face, forcing her sobs to subside. “Had a good nap?”

 

Her perceptive child stared at her and then his grandpa. “Why are you crying?”

 

“Don’t worry about it Gohan,” her father boomed, and she heard a forced note of joviality in it. “Why don’t you get your things? We’re all going to take a trip to Capsule Corp.”

 

Chi-Chi glanced at her father and didn’t dare argue.

 

She owed him an introduction.

 

At that, Gohan’s face brightened and Chi-Chi’s heart squeezed when she realized it was because he assumed it was going to be another day with Goku. “Yay! I—”

 

He immediately bit his tongue, his large eyes darting to Chi-Chi.

 

Chi-Chi sniffed and wiped her cheeks some more. “Your Grandpa knows about daddy now, Gohan.”

 

Her son beamed. “Oh, yay! Is that why you were crying? Because you’re happy to tell Grandpa our secret?”

 

“It’s still a secret, Gohan,” her father interrupted. “Only _we_ can know. Is that clear?”

 

Gohan’s eyes widened impossibly as he nodded. “Yes, yes. Daddy’s job is very important and secret, so he also has to be secret.”

 

Papa angled her a quick gaze, and she could see he was still pretty sore about how little he knew and how much his own _grandson_ knew over him.

 

“That’s right,” her father said finally. Chi-Chi sighed and shuffled to go help her son get his things when her father grasped her arm.

 

“I love you, but I am very upset and worried,” her father said sharply. “I need more answers. This conversation is _not_ done.”

 

Chi-Chi nodded shortly, shame and disappointment at _herself_ pouring through her. If she had only reached out for help, maybe five years of loneliness wouldn’t have happened. Maybe all this drama with The Prince wouldn’t have occurred. Bulma wouldn’t have been kidnapped.

 

She thought she’d been protecting _everyone_ , but maybe…

 

… maybe she’d been busy protecting only herself this entire time.

 

She could only hope that one day, her father would forgive her.

 

And maybe one day, she could learn to forgive herself.

 

.

.

.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's short-ish, but I wanted to set up more pieces for a crazy ass Capsule Corp reunion :)


	42. Chapter 42

_Earlier, Present Day…_

 

Bulma crossed her arms, pulling every thread of bravado and genuine confidence to her form. She had to be careful. This was like dealing with an evil genie where one wrongly phrased request could have unintended consequences.

 

Vegeta mirrored her, crossing his arms as well, waiting patiently for her to make her demands.

 

“I want your full co-operation,” she said plainly. “No more of these cryptic, coded messages. No more half-assed dates and addresses. _Or_ random names pulled out of thin air. You’re going to tell me _exactly_ what’s going on, who’s responsible and then give _context_.”

 

“In return?”

 

“You mean besides a full pardon, a new identity and your freedom papers?” Bulma drawled.

 

“Yes, exactly,” he said.

 

Bulma’s eyes narrowed. “You are a goddamn waste.”

 

He didn’t expect her to say that — he wasn’t able to hide the shocked and slightly insulted look that flitted across his face. “Excuse me?”

 

“You heard me,” Bulma pressed on, leaning forward slightly to emphasize her point. “You’re a waste. You waste your time and your…” Bulma uncrossed her arms and gestured at his head. “… your head on all these stupid games against _us_ , the people who are trying to save people’s lives — and frankly, save _you._ You’re welcome, by the way.”

 

“Get off your high horse. You are here to _use_ me,” he pointed out coolly, unmoved by her rant.

 

Bulma lifted a pointed finger in the air. “Yes. And use you I will. I’m not going to allow you to waste your mind _any_ longer. So you’re going to work for me.”

 

He looked up at the ceiling. “And in return?”

 

“That’s your _reward_ , asshole,” Bulma exclaimed. “Do you know how hard it is to get hired here? Do you know how many people would ki— never mind. Do you know what I’m actually giving you?”

 

He frowned at her silently.

 

“A fucking future, for one,” Bulma pointed out, a hint of frustration dripping out of her voice. Did he not really see what a large opportunity she was offering? “I’m not about to send a hardened criminal out into the world without a plan to prevent him from reoffending. And you’ll get paid well — I mean, not immediately, but when you leave, you’ll receive payment. Welcome to the first day of your new career!”

 

She made a sweeping gesture with her hands.

 

Vegeta didn’t have the grace to look grateful or impressed. Instead, he sighed and looked to the ceiling again. “Sure.”

 

Bulma honestly didn’t get him. This was such a _generous_ gesture on her part, something that killed two birds with one stone — keep him busy _and_ useful, while providing a _positive_ path for what happened _after_ this investigation was through — and he just looked at her like she hadn’t just given him the largest gift.

 

Especially considering the circumstances! And the nature of his crimes!

 

Her exasperation must have shown on her face because he let out a small, mirthless laugh.

 

“It’s really another world for people like you, isn’t it? You really _do_ think you’re doing me a great favor, giving me the best deal,” he said, with a tone so patronizing, Bulma had to stop herself from deepening the gash by his lip. He clasped his hands together. “Well guess what, _boss_ , you spouted the same things Frieza Kold has said to me for two decades.”

 

To say Bulma was shaken by Vegeta’s words would be an understatement. There was so much to unpack with what he just said. What did she want to address first? The _second_ time he accused her of being like Frieza Kold or the fact that he’d been under Frieza’s thumb _for two decades?_

 

That would mean he would have started working for him when he was barely a teen!

 

“Th-that’s absurd. For one thing, I’m not going to require you to commit crimes, small or large, on our behalf,” Bulma said finally, deciding to address the first part of his statement.

 

“We’ll see,” he said.

 

At that, Bulma barked out a laugh. “Wow. Right. I forgot I was talking to an insane person. Whatever. Think what you want. Those are the terms.”

 

“That I open my mouth and payment is _my_ slave labor, got it.”

 

There was no point in taking this argument further. He was _determined_ to paint her the bad guy and she was having none of that. He was trying to manipulate her, to soften her up, maybe… he hadn’t yet made clear _any_ of _his_ demands.

 

“You’ll be staying at Capsule Corp of course, but clearly we are unable to _contain_ you so you’ll be provided a guest suite,” Bulma went on brusquely.

 

“No isolation,” he said sharply.

 

“No isolation,” she echoed gently, before clearing her throat and schooling her features to be more stern. “But you will _not_ be allowed to wander around freely. And if you try to leave Capsule Corp grounds, security has been instructed to shoot on sight.”

 

At that, he smiled, but didn’t say anything.

 

Psycho, she thought.

 

“Deal?” Bulma pressed. “Full co-operation and I’m going to _personally_ make sure your transition to the real world is a successful one. You’ll leave with a _career_.”

 

She stuck her hand out, eyebrows raised expectantly. He ignored her.

 

“Set up a meeting with Kakarrot a week from now.”

 

Bulma rolled her eyes. “Can you stop obsessing about him for one second? How about this: _tomorrow_ , when you tell me _all_ about the drama surrounding your ex-boyfriend, I’ll see what I can do. When I have _context_. Full co-operation. That’s only fair.”

 

She shook her still raised, empty hand.

 

He ignored her once again and tilted his head, his expression curious. “He told you he was my ex?”

 

Bulma blinked rapidly, caught totally off-guard. She was being _facetious_ about the nature of his relationship with Kakarrot. But my god, if they were _involved_ , that would make a lot of sense—

 

“Uh… _”_

 

“I wonder what other tales he’s spun,” he went on, confusing her. So… what? _Were_ they involved or not? “Whatever he tells you can’t be trusted.”

 

“But I can trust _you_?” she snorted.

 

“I haven’t lied to you.”

 

“Wow, and what is happening right now?” she pointed out with a scoff.

 

“Tell me something I’ve stated that has been proven a lie,” he said calmly, gesturing at her briefly.

 

Bulma opened her mouth and then found her lips flapping soundlessly. Even when he’d kidnapped her, he very precisely told her about her impending “rescue” and that came to fruition. His name was still up for debate, but she could tell he _believed_ he was the long lost prince. And so far everything that he told them about Frieza had checked out.

 

He was a man of a few words, so _technically_ , when he _did_ say something… she couldn’t find a way to discount his statement. But his tactic was to use his silence so _others_ could fill in the gaps.

 

It was a classic mentalist technique — one he could exploit by simply letting others set the path for him.

 

Lying by omission was still a lie.

 

She shook her head. “I’ve set my terms. Do you agree or not?”

 

“What happens if I don’t?”

 

At that, Bulma threw the palm she had outstretched in the air. He was the world’s most frustrating man!

 

“You go to another enclosure. And we argue uselessly while people are dying out in the real world because of Frieza. You’d kiss the reunion with your stupid nemesis good-bye. You’ll try to escape, _again_ , all the while knowing that the farthest you can get is to the door before our tech _or_ our trained security team guns you down.”

 

Bulma had stalked toward him mid-rant, fists clenched, face flushed.

 

“So choose Option B if your goal is to _slowly_ murder me with annoyance and _yourself_ through your own, misguided need to garner control when you know _full well_ you have none.” She cut the air with her hand. “Or, _maybe_ , for once, choose the _sane_ option. Stop wasting time and choose Option: Live Another Day.”

 

It was only when she was done talking she realized she’d walked him back against the clear walls of his former enclosure. She was practically climbing over him.

 

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled, raising his hands in a mock surrender. She was so close that the sides of his fingers brushed against her breasts with the action.

 

Bulma jumped back, trying to gain back a semblance of composure. Why did things always escalate between them like this? Why did everything always have a weird… undercurrent?

 

 _Because you still want to fuck him senseless_ , her traitorous brain told her matter-of-factly.

 

She puffed out her cheeks, trying to steer everything back to normal. She wished there was some way to instantly tamp down the blood rushing up to her face and… other places.

 

“Yes? You agree?” she said and was pleased how business-like her tone was.

 

His lips twitched. “You make very convincing arguments.”

 

His gaze was drawn to her chest before he caught her eyes again, blatantly insinuating that she’d used her body as a negotiating tactic.

 

She wasn’t going to take the bait. She pretended not to understand the way his gaze was assessing her in a _very_ dangerous way.

 

“I also need you to _behave_ ,” she added. Evil genie, she told herself.

 

“Elaborate.”

 

“I mean… besides full co-operation, I want you to avoid threatening or otherwise harming myself, my family, my friends or my staff. I want you to promise you won’t seek out Kakarrot on your own. And when we set the meeting, you promise you won’t try to kill him.”

 

He waved a hand. “Yes to all but the last one. We done?”

 

Bulma briefly closed her eyes. Did he seriously think she was going to allow that? But when she opened her eyes and regarded the man before her, she sensed that he was being serious.

 

His verbal statements were never lies.

 

That was a problem. She wasn’t Kakarrot’s largest fan, but she didn’t want him dead! She wasn’t about to be flippant about Kakarrot’s safety, just because Vegeta was “reasonable” about everything else. Her pretending his statement wasn’t a big deal or that she could change his mind later was being purposefully ignorant.

 

He couldn’t be more clear what his motivation was.

 

It also told her that whatever he had against Kakarrot was serious enough for him to throw _everything_ away. She had dismissed it as some petty rivalry but when she took a step back — this entire fiasco was catalyzed by his obsessive need to destroy Kakarrot.

 

 _All of this was because of Kakarrot_.

 

Bulma covered her mouth, wondering what in the world she could _give_ him to make what he considered a giant concession.

 

What, if anything, would he care more than what he was already getting — freedom, money… and the chance to confront his enemy?

 

“You must know that I can’t let you harm him,” Bulma said.

 

“Then we’re at an impasse.”

 

“There must be something I can give you that matters more,” she ventured, fishing. He tapped his chin and shook his head.

 

“The moment I dance on his grave will be one of the happiest in my life.”

 

Bulma rubbed her temple. And she thought _she_ was dramatic?

 

“You won’t even bother sugar coating it.”

 

“What’s the point? Lies are a waste. Honor still means something to me,” he added. There was something in the _way_ he said that and how he thumped his chest for emphasis that teased Bulma’s consciousness—

 

“I can prove it,” she blurted out, before the thought was even fully formed in her mind. But once the idea took hold, it made sense. It was the only thing she could think of that might matter to him.

 

“Prove what?”

 

“You actually _believe_ you’re the lost Saiyan prince,” she said, carefully.

 

He flinched as if struck and she was sure the only reason he’d even reacted was that her statement hit home, _hard_.

 

And unexpectedly.

 

She phrased it the way she did because she didn’t want to fill him with the idea that it was true until she had proof. The boy in the documentary was five when everything went down, and someone like Vegeta could have internalized the story as a fantasy to remove himself from reality.

 

“I can find definitive proof that you’re Vegeta Szlachta, third of his name, heir to the Saiya throne — or the proof of the opposite. So you can move on from this. But _proof_ I’ll get,” she said firmly.

 

He was so thrown that she saw a million different reactions float over his features — before his eyes blazed, his expression one of outrage. He didn’t need to say it. He was practically screaming, “How _dare_ you _”_ with his face.

 

Good thing Bulma was used to men giving her that look all her life.

 

“You’re a Grade A bitch.”

 

“Oh, I was hoping for A-plus,” Bulma returned, unaffected. Anger she could handle. She sighed and made a move to reach out to him, but he moved aside. Okay. Really upset.

 

“I’m not mocking you,” she said quietly. “I’m dead serious. I told you I was already getting your DNA checked for ethnic markers.” She waved around them. “Do you not realize where you’re standing? This is _Capsule Corp_. I have more resources than you can imagine. More than you could ever access yourself, by yourself.” She tried for levity, her tone teasing. “I’m kind of a big deal, you know.”

 

He turned away from her, tapping an idle hand against his chest. It was his nervous tick, Bulma knew. He always had to touch, move — something — to release pent up energy.

 

“If you promise to behave, I’ll get you the proof you’ve wanted all your life in maybe three months,” Bulma said, shifting and tilting her head to catch his gaze again.

 

His hands had formed fists by this point and she could practically feel the anger vibrating from his pores. But, she suspected it was less at her and more at the world, how unfair it had been to him. Still he kept tapping away, with his fist this time, his eyes purposely averted from hers.

 

Bulma swallowed and nodded to herself, before she sidestepped and stood directly in front of his line of sight. What did she see in that documentary? Right hand on the left breast, then to the right shoulder… then offer her forearm to grab?

 

Vegeta’s eyes widened as Bulma haltingly made the movements — according to the documentary, it was the official Saiyan handshake: the right hand on the left breast to signify feeling, then moving the same hand to the right in a fist to flex their strength, then reaching out to solidify a strong alliance.

 

“Heart to hand, strength in honor,” Bulma recited, leaving her hand out. She honestly thought it was a rather sweet salute, and hoped that by doing so, she conveyed her sincerity.

 

His fingers unfurled.

 

For several seconds, it felt like no one breathed in the room.

 

Or maybe it was just her.

 

Finally:

 

“One month,” he said hoarsely.

 

“Maybe two,” she countered giddily. _Yes!_

 

“One,” he said through clenched teeth.

 

Bulma sighed and rolled her eyes, shaking her outstretched hand for the umpteenth time. She wasn’t above a good challenge and the ability to lord the results over him once the month was through was a good incentive for her as well. She wanted to find out the truth and she was going to confront him with it one way or another.

 

“One month, and you _behave._ No harming anyone. Including Kakarrot. Deal?”

 

Bulma didn’t wait for his reaction. She went ahead and grasped his forearm.

 

“You won’t find anything,” he said.

 

“ _One month and you behave_ ,” Bulma repeated.

 

He stared at her for another impossibly long beat, before his fingers wrapped around her forearm in return. Bulma couldn’t stop the triumphant grin forming on her face.

 

He didn’t return her smile.

 

They shook arms.

 

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Gladiator is one of my favorite films. :) Though Maximus actually says "Strength _and_ honor" I thought the twist that there's strength _in_ honor is more accurate toward my idea of Saiyans and V.


	43. Chapter 43

_Five years ago…_

 

 

“Give me an update.”

 

“I just parked! Aren’t you supposed to be working right now?”

 

“I’m on break. So… update?”

 

“Give me a sec… ah, yes, horrifying!”

 

“What?! What’s happening?”

 

“I now know Chi-Chi’s secret—she’s actually a 70-year-old Asian woman.”

 

“Lapis.”

 

“Sis, she’s wandering around in a monstrous muumuu. It’s the only logical conclusion.”

 

“Lapis.”

 

“I’ve been doing these rounds for four nights now and Patrick Swayze has yet to show up.”

 

“… proud of that reference, aren’t you?”

 

“Congratulate me on my restraint. I lasted four nights.”

 

“So, really? Nothing weird at all?”

 

“I have yet to see her order take out. She’s cooked dinner every evening. Who does that?”

 

“No… guys?”

 

“None.”

 

“Spare me the commentary.”

 

“I literally answered your question with one word.”

 

“It was your tone. Okay… maybe I was wrong, then?”

 

“… I need to record this conversation. Lazuli Gero admitting she was wrong? Maybe a little paranoid?”

 

“You know why.”

 

“… If you overlook the flagrant privacy violations, one might even think you're sweet.”

 

“Shut it. So in your professional opinion, you think there’s really nothing wrong?”

 

“The only thing wrong is that I’m sitting here with a shitty chicken lettuce wrap while she’s making a mountain of food, and fuck — why did I decide to diet this week?!”

 

“— why are you dieting?!”

 

“Hello, it’s end of July. There’s a few beach days left and I have standards.”

 

“Unbelievable.”

 

“ _You_ try the gay dating scene.”

 

“You’re ridiculous.”

 

“… do you think if I show up at her door with an excuse she’ll invite me in for dinner?”

 

“What happened to the diet?! The speed you change your mind is boggling.”

 

“It looks like she’s making tacos, sis. _Tacos_.”

 

“Fine, whatever. Go say hi for me.”

 

“Not sure if ‘Hi, I’ve been stalking you on behalf of my sister’ will go over well.”

 

“Shut up. Good to know that she’s okay, though.”

 

“Now we have that established, I’m going to let you go and con this sweet lady into giving me tacos.”

 

“Careful what you wish for, bro. There’s a thing Bulma and I call the Chi-Chi 15.”

 

“One night of tacos—”

 

“You don’t know how good a cook she is. It’s never just one night with Chi. Her tacos are _really good_.”

 

“… I’m going to end this conversation because all this talk about tacos now feels weirdly dirty and sexually ambiguous. Plus I’m talking to my _sister_. Bye.”

 

.

.

.

 

Bulma Briefs was turning 29, so of course it was going to be a spectacle. That was why she hired a private plane for her best friends for a weekend in Sin City aka Orange Star City.

 

While the aptly named Diablo Desert was scorching in mid-August, the glitzy Orange Star City was like an oasis — the gambling mecca was overflowing with cool, alcoholic drinks, which were carried openly on The Strip. Plus, hotels and casinos did _not_ skimp on air conditioning.

 

It was why Chi-Chi was kind of freezing in the red fringe number Bulma commissioned for her for the party. Bulma Briefs loved the drama of costumes and always had a theme for her birthday. This time, it was “The Roh-ring 20s” — a twist on the 20s era and Roh-Roh’s Drag Race. Only a crazy theme would do for a farewell to Bulma’s twenties. It meant everyone was to show up in vintage-styled clothing—but in outrageously bright colors.

 

Wigs were encouraged, as were hats and fascinators.

 

Chi-Chi half-suspected that beyond her friend’s natural tendency to be outrageous during celebrations, Bulma was actually being clever. Her face was one of the most recognized in the world, but under a green bob wig — which, strangely, she looked _natural_ in — and glitter drag-style makeup, she… well, Bulma still managed to look beautiful but less recognizable as “The Mind of a Generation.”

 

Chi-Chi thought they _all_ looked simultaneously fabulous _and_ outrageous, but since this was Orange Star City, their getups looked relatively normal against the setting.

 

Chi-Chi looked around fondly at her beautiful, chattering friends and thought about how grateful she was to have this support group. Lazuli hadn’t pressed her about the “Mystery Boy” since that embarrassing cry session, but had in more recent weeks been cajoling her out of her apartment to live a little. It was nice to be reminded there was _more_ to life than work and desperately missing Kakarrot.

 

She turned to her side, to Lapis, Lazuli’s twin, who she’d become more close to the past few weeks. He’d stopped by her apartment on a whim to check if she was home because he had to go to the bathroom really badly. He’d been on a major case for the FBI that was nearby — and because of the recent heat wave, been downing water bottles and hadn’t been near a bathroom for hours.

 

Naturally, since she’d just finished making dinner, she asked if he’d be interested in joining her. It was nice to have company for some evenings again, even though it was entirely innocent. Maybe that made it even better — she needed friends right now, not mysterious and tortured lovers.

 

Lapis was easy to talk to and reminded her of Lazuli — except even more sarcastic if possible. He said things with such a straight face, it was hard to tell what was a joke and what wasn’t. At least Lazuli punctuated things with a wink or a smirk, but Lapis was unreadable — there were already a few awkward situations where he’d have to add, “I’m joking” but in an entirely deadpan delivery that still made her question whether _that_ was the joke.

 

Though, all the time with Lapis was making her feel all sorts of confused. She’d always had a _mild, harmless_ crush on the man — she wasn’t blind, Lapis was stunning — and sort of admired him from afar in the way one admired a painting or a beautiful sculpture.

 

He looked so handsome in his barely buttoned dress shirt tucked in tailored slacks, though he had on designer sneakers to offset the slightly formal attire. He had on a fedora — “Unironically,” he added without shame, citing the theme as just a nice coincidence — and it just made him look like he'd come out of a period film. A slim jacket finished the look and ever-so-stylish, he had a bright kerchief in a red that matched her own fringe dress, peeking out from the jacket pocket.

 

Chi-Chi had always known he was handsome especially since his twin Lazuli was absolutely gorgeous — but getting to _know_ him beyond the superficial made her wish that their circumstances were different.

 

She stifled a groan. Why did she torture herself with unattainable men? She looked off to the other side where Murdock, Yamcha’s buddy from his amateur baseball league, was eagerly trying to impress Lazuli. Who looked _utterly_ bored — moreso than usual.

 

Chi-Chi knew that Bulma planted Murdock as _her_ hook-up for the eve — her best friend had been not-so-subtly talking the man up for days — but while pleasant, the man was just… dull.

 

And he clearly preferred _blondes_.

 

Chi-Chi swallowed a giggle with a sip of her daiquiri, as she observed Murdock try to strike up a conversation with Lazuli from across the table, who was barely managing to be polite.

 

“Straight men confuse me,” Lapis said lowly beside her, pretending not to observe what she was also observing. “I mean, do they just like being tortured? Because that’s what Lazuli plans to do even _if_ she decides to hook up with _Bull Durham_ here.”

 

This time, Chi-Chi let out a small giggle. She learned that Lapis was a _giant_ pop culture buff and loved to drop references to movies all the time.

 

“No, I think that’s just the effect Lazuli has on men,” Chi-Chi said in amusement. Lazuli had a much-deserved preying mantis reputation when it came to men.

 

“Rude. Murdock was supposed to be for you,” Lapis said, and Chi-Chi giggled a little again. So it wasn’t just her who noticed how pushy Bulma had been. Though, Bulma seemed to almost immediately abandon her matchmaker plan the moment she had a few more drinks in and was currently arguing with Yamcha whether they should play poker or black jack next.

 

“I don’t know what B was thinking. I’m not into—”

 

“— you mean you want personality to go with looks? Such impossible requirements, princess,” Lapis drawled, as he swirled his vodka on the rocks. He hadn’t stopped using her nickname since he Googled the stupid commercial she was in as a child the one evening they had a “weird but true facts about themselves” discussion.

 

She didn’t mind, not any more. Being with Kakarrot got her used to nicknames— ugh. Why did her mind _always_ drift back to that awful man, even in the most inane situations?

 

Chi-Chi shrugged and took another large swallow of her daiquiri. “I don’t know. I’d rather stay single until I meet a guy that I _really_ like, you know?”

 

“Here here,” Lapis said, clinking his glass with hers. “Nothing wrong with having standards.”

 

Chi-Chi shifted in her seat. Her standards were awfully low at this point. No criminal record. Had to be straight. Could converse about topics beyond baseball, she thought to herself ruefully. She really needed to get her head back on straight. She looked up to see Bulma tug Yamcha out of the booth and onto the dance floor as Latin beats filled the air.

 

“Isn’t the man supposed to lead?” Chi-Chi snorted into her drink, as she watched her friends whirl around the floor. Bulma seemed quite sure of her movement while Yamcha looked utterly lost as to where to place his hands or his feet. Still, her friend made everything look natural and fun. “I wish I knew how to dance like that.”

 

Lapis placed his drink down and wiped his hands on his thighs. “No time like the present.”

 

Lapis held his hand out expectantly while Chi-Chi laughed.

 

“Oh no,” Chi-Chi said, shaking her head. “I can’t.”

 

“Come on,” Lapis said, as he shook his open palm. “There’s no better time or place to make a fool of yourself. Stop pretending you don’t want to dance with yours truly.”

 

Chi-Chi was about to protest again, but saw Bulma at the dance floor wave her forward to join them, smiling enthusiastically.

 

Right. Birthday girl. It wouldn’t do to reject her requests, especially when they were relatively harmless. Hell, even when requests weren’t harmless, refusing Bulma Briefs was just as futile.

 

“Boss lady says go,” Lapis said with a quirk of his lips. She sighed heartily and placed her hand in his.

 

 _He’s shorter than Kakarrot. Thinner, too_ , her mind inconveniently pointed out. She wished there was some way to stem her reflexive thoughts. She couldn’t help where her mind drifted as Lapis drew her loosely into a dance formation.

 

Dammit, what was the point of comparing?

 

 _Neither_ of the men were available to her. She needed to get a hold of herself! This was such a destructive pattern. Her crush on Lapis was only a hairline less stupid than falling for a criminal who only wanted her for sex. Was she just lonely and desperate for affection?

 

“Real easy. Left together, right together. Let’s do that first,” Lapis said calmly as Chi-Chi concentrated and followed his steps. “Yep, exactly, good.”

 

“ _Heeeeyyyy_ ,” a drunken Bulma broke in with Yamcha in tow. “Look at you gorgeous things. Having fun?”

 

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Chi-Chi said as she moved side to side as Lapis instructed, but she found she _was_ having fun.

 

“Okay, now make it sexy,” Lapis ordered. Chi-Chi laughed. What? How was she going to do that?

 

As if reading her mind, Lapis dropped her hands and repeated the side-to-side motion they’d been practicing. “Okay, so this is _unsexy_.”

 

Chi-Chi didn’t disagree, as he was just literally shuffling side to side! He lifted his hands to pause his movements and catch her attention again.

 

“And now...” He shifted and suddenly his _hips_ were involved, his knees bent a bit more, and his hands— Chi-Chi lifted her hand to her lips and giggled. He was exaggerating his movements to be funny, she knew, but she thought that he actually _did_ accomplish his task of adding the “sexy.” He even added a little twirl and tipped his fedora in the end.

 

“And then, you combine that with—” Lapis went on, suddenly grabbing Bulma’s hand. The heiress allowed herself to be twirled into Lapis’ arms. Even though Bulma was inebriated, she still seemed to be _quite_ high-functioning. Her movements didn’t waver.

 

In fact, it was super impressive, the way Lapis and Bulma dominated the dance floor, showing how it was done. Chi-Chi scooted to Yamcha who was rubbing the back of his neck watching the spectacle. They exchanged a look and both laughed.

 

“I think we were just abandoned. Wanna dance?” Yamcha drawled. “Don’t worry, I am _also_ shit at this.”

 

“Well, when you say it like that,” Chi-Chi said, with a chuckle, getting into a semblance of dancing formation. And without further ado, Yamcha whisked her onto the dance floor.

 

.

.

.

 

At first, she’d dismissed the first glimpse due to her own silliness, what with her internally comparing all the men at Bulma’s party with Kakarrot.

 

The second time had been by the cashiers — but she was pulled away so quickly by her group of friends as they were onto a new activity that Bulma had planned for them. Perhaps she was just confused due to her early sighting and again, blaming her own internal messy emotions.

 

Why would Kakarrot be in Orange Star City? And at the same casino, the same night?

 

Absurd.

 

But as her friends approached the craps table with a few people already at play, his dark gaze caught hers — and if they hadn’t known each other so intimately these past few months, maybe she would have missed the barely perceptible widening of eyes.

 

It was _him_.

 

“Blow this for me, princess,” Lapis said casually, lifting his palm with the dice in front of her face. He’d pulled her to the side, lightly placing his hand on her waist. She noticed Kakarrot’s gaze lower slightly at the movement, but otherwise, his expression didn’t change.

 

“Come on seven!” Bulma shrieked beside her, much louder than she really needed to.

 

Then, because the world hated her, _two_ women saddled up beside the man she had tried so hard to remove from her mind. One raven haired beauty handed him a drink — whiskey, of course — while the other, a gorgeous red-head, draped herself on the other side, her arms wrapping around his trim waist.

 

He flashed them his signature lopsided grin, his attention completely toward the women now.

 

Chi-Chi wanted to vomit.

 

“Princess?”

 

Chi-Chi nearly jumped out of her skin, startled at Lapis’ voice, as he waited expectantly for her to blow on his palm. Hastily she did just that and ignored Lapis’ questioning look. He squeezed her side comfortingly anyway before he threw the dice.

 

Bulma pouted when the dice came up six. Chi-Chi could barely notice because she was too busy trying not to look ahead of her. But it was difficult considering his entourage was rather obnoxious and vocal. No sooner had the women thrown themselves at Kakarrot, an enormous man — whose face looked almost _purple_ , he was so out of shape and seemed to be a minute away from a heart attack — waddled toward Kakarrot and patted him on the back.

 

Abruptly, she felt Lapis stiffen by her side.

 

“Well, fuck me,” he muttered.

 

“Huh?” Chi-Chi turned a curious gaze toward her companion, who still had his arm loosely around her back.

 

“Sometimes, my line of business follows me,” Lapis said lowly, adjusting his fedora slightly to hide his eyes. “The ugly fucker that just walked to our table is Dodoria Dikobraz. Let’s get out of here.”

 

Chi-Chi had no idea who Dodoria Dikobraz was, but all it did was fill Chi-Chi with alarm and dread. If Lapis knew who that guy was, then the _FBI_ was aware of _Kakarrot’s associates…!_

 

Lapis didn’t seem to recognize or mention Kakarrot, though, and it filled her with a strange mixture of relief and worry.

 

Lapis turned and nodded at Lazuli, and Chi-Chi was then convinced that _twin telepathy_ must exist because the blonde nodded back and quickly left the table without another word. Murdock, of course, stumbled to follow.

 

“Hey, where you going?” Bulma exclaimed, when Lapis and Chi-Chi turned to do the same. “We just started!”

 

Lapis tilted his hat so it covered the side that was facing Dodoria and Kakarrot.

 

“This table’s cold,” Lapis said calmly, not waiting for her to respond before he turned and left quickly. Chi-Chi followed suit, looking back to see Bulma and Yamcha’s slightly perplexed expressions at everyone’s sudden departure.

 

As she looked back, she couldn’t help but check Kakarrot. She was disappointed to see him chatting with this Dodoria fellow, completely dismissing her and her friends, while he juggled chips on one hand and women on the other.

 

As if he had no idea who she was.

 

Chi-Chi worked her jaw as anger flowed through her blood.

 

She was stupid to think that she meant something, even a little.

 

Good _fucking_ riddance.

 

.

.

.

 

Chi-Chi refused to drown her sorrows with alcohol. She’d done that already and ended up spilling her guts to Lazuli — and knowing that Kakarrot was _some_ where in the vicinity was enough motivation to keep her wits about her.

 

On the other hand, the consequence of her teetotal-ling for the rest of the evening was her sudden appointment as Group Mother. As everyone got increasingly more drunk as the night wore on, they leaned to her to make sure they drank water and didn’t bash their head against the wall. She also played peacemaker, stopping any altercations from escalating if a stranger looked at them weird.

 

It was exhausting!

 

Especially since Lapis was surprisingly handsy while rip-roaring drunk. He normally was too cool to be affected by anything.

 

Not Drunk Lapis, however.

 

He slapped Yamcha’s ass at one point and asked Bulma if he could “borrow” him for an evening, then tried to come onto Murdock — though Chi-Chi knew _that_ was just Lapis trying to piss off his sister as a joke since “coming on” alluded to a threesome with his _twin._ Lazuli responded with a violent kick in the shin for even suggesting — Chi-Chi had to pry the woman away before she beat Lapis to a pulp.

 

Then he kept pulling Chi-Chi around, trying to dance with her even in the middle of the slot machines.

 

In one impromptu dance, he’d nuzzled her hair and told her she smelled like food — which Chi-Chi wasn’t sure _how_ to take — and then he babbled about tacos and his sister being right.

 

Made little sense to her.

 

Blissfully, the night was beginning to wind down, just when Chi-Chi’s feet were screaming for her to take her heels off. And by some further miracle, her party didn’t encounter Kakarrot and that shady Dodoria guy Lapis was eager to avoid himself.

 

Predictably, Yamcha and Bulma disappeared to continue their wild night _alone_ , Lazuli decided to eat Murdock’s face — or at least, well, it seemed that way from how they were making out at the back of the last bar they crashed — and Chi-Chi was left with a drunken Lapis, draped over her shoulders.

 

It reminded her of that night with Ka—

 

 _Oh, my god, stop it already,_ Chi-Chi told herself, intensely annoyed at herself. She’d managed to spend the last several hours _not_ thinking about him since she’d been too busy making sure her friends weren’t going to get arrested and/or accidentally kill themselves.

 

“All right now, this is your room,” Chi-Chi said, stopping in front of a numbered door. “Give me your keycard.”

 

“Why you go get it?” he slurred.

 

Chi-Chi sighed and prayed for patience. “Because I don’t know where it is. Is it in your wallet? Your pants pocket?”

 

“I dunno,” he muttered with a small grimace. Even then, he still managed to look handsome, but Chi-Chi’s tolerance for his antics was wearing thin.

 

“You better not have lost it or else you’re sleeping in the hallway tonight,” Chi-Chi exclaimed.

 

“Not your room?”

 

Chi-Chi’s cheeks warmed up. “Not appropriate, Lapis.”

 

“We’ll cuddle, nothing more,” he added with a dopey smile, while he leaned toward her and kissed her temple like she was a young child. “Sometimes we need a cuddle. I’m a good cuddler.”

 

Chi-Chi swallowed a laugh. “Yes, okay. Got it. Master cuddler.”

 

“Ooh, I like that,” he said.

 

“Key card, please,” Chi-Chi asked again, and this time Lapis patted his jacket and his pants, before shakily pulling out a slim wallet. Chi-Chi took it from him without preamble, flipping it open without issue. She went through _so_ many wallets at the ER, it felt natural to her.

 

“You know I’ve been with women before.”

 

Chi-Chi’s fingers froze.

 

“I think I’m a 4 on the Kinsey scale. You know what that is?” His voice had gotten dangerously soft.

 

Chi-Chi refused to look at Lapis, rifling back through his wallet before thankfully finding the card.

 

“You are drunk,” Chi-Chi said sharply, still not looking at the man as she fumbled trying to get the keycard in the slot. “And you’re going to sleep this off and forget.”

 

She didn’t need this right now. She was a mess. Lapis clearly was, too. And she was _done_ with drunken hookups. She was _not_ able to remove emotion when things got physical. Plus, this was _Lapis_ — the brother of one of her closest friends, and definitely knew she was _not normally his type_.

 

Again, how did she find herself in these situations? she lamented. Beautiful, tortured men who normally wouldn’t give her a second thought until they were blitzed out of their skulls.

 

“Message received loud and clear,” Lapis drawled giving her a slight salute, right before he pulled off the hat that miraculous stayed on his head all night. Just as he was about to push into the room and Chi-Chi was going to make a swift exit, he paused and patted his jacket again, before pulling out a spare keycard. Chi-Chi stared at him in confusion as he flipped it around his fingers. “Knew I had another one… anyway, here you go.”

 

Chi-Chi was so surprised she just took it.

 

“If you change your mind… you know where to find me,” he said with a lazy wink.

 

He closed the door on her before she had a chance to respond.

 

.

.

.

 

After Chi-Chi removed all her makeup and got ready to bed, she realized she was still wired from all the running around and adrenaline of seeing Kakarrot earlier in the eve and then Lapis’ subsequent drunken overture.

 

She changed into a yellow t-shirt, jeans and her white sneakers and decided to wander the casino aimlessly. She was thinking maybe of finding that little restaurant bar that had the nice desserts. She deserved hot cocoa and a treat.

 

The bartender was an older gentleman who smiled as she sat at the counter, handing her a menu.

 

“You and your friends had fun tonight?” At Chi-Chi’s inquisitive head tilt, the bartender laughed and gestured. “You were part of the really colorful group. You were… the woman in red.”

 

Chi-Chi smiled and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, that was us. I hope we weren’t too rowdy.”

 

“Ah, y’all were harmless. What can I get you?”

 

“I just want a hot cocoa and… I don’t know. The chocolate torte?”

 

“A double chocolate evening coming right up!” the bartender said, typing the order onto the POS machine. “You know hot cocoa tastes _great_ with a shot of Baileys.”

 

“Oh, I—”

 

“She’ll have the shot. Put her order on my tab.”

 

The flesh of Chi-Chi’s arms rippled with awareness as the voice that haunted her days and nights was clear beside her.

 

“No, thank you,” Chi-Chi said tightly, refusing to look at him. She didn’t need to, really. He was right beside her, sliding into empty stool like it was _made_ for him, and he took up so much space… he always did.

 

The bartender’s gaze bounced between them. “Is there… a problem?”

 

“Is there?” Kakarrot challenged.

 

Chi-Chi saw the bartender watch them in confusion and concern; she knew that if she said the word, she could have Kakarrot escorted and… and…

 

“It’s fine. I’ll have the cocoa _without_ alcohol, please, and the cake,” Chi-Chi said clearly. For a split second, she considered having her order to go, to get out of here, but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

 

“Do you want this bill to go to your room or pay here?” the bartender asked.

 

But before Chi-Chi could answer, Kakarrot wordlessly slapped twenty dollars on the pass. “Keep the change.”

 

Chi-Chi grit her teeth. He was _such_ an asshole.

 

The bartender hesitated but at Chi-Chi’s resigned nod, he picked up the bill and was eager to leave them be as he plugged in the order to the kitchen.

 

“Where’s your partner?” Kakarrot asked coldly, more cold than she’d ever heard his tone. It was such an odd question. Did he mean Lapis? Since they spent most of the evening together?

 

She fiddled with a coaster to keep her fingers busy, refusing to answer him.

 

“Look, you got me, bravo,” Kakarrot went on, baffling Chi-Chi. He even added a small clap. “I suspected from the beginning, because why the hell would the _princess_ of Fire Mountain ever give trash the time of day?”

 

Chi-Chi’s brows furrowed and despite herself, found herself looking at Kakarrot, _looking_ at him so closely for the first time in a couple months. It was unfair that despite how angry she was at him, he was still so incredibly appealing. He was exactly as she last saw him at the elevator, down to the tense angles of his symmetrical face.

 

He was angry at her, that much was obvious, but _why,_ she had no idea.

 

He tapped the bar agitatedly. “I hope you got what you needed but I need you to back off. I have too much heat on me right now. You targeted the wrong guy. We’re on the same side.”

 

Chi-Chi thought he might as well have started speaking in tongues. It felt like someone dropped her in the middle of a conversation she forgot she was having. “I have no clue what you’re talking about. And I’ve always said I was on your side.”

 

“Yeah, but now _I get it_ , and I need you to back off,” Kakarrot said through stiff lips. “I tried to make sure we avoided your entire entourage all night. Showing up at the same craps table with Agent Gero slobbering all over you was totally unnecessary and could have gotten me killed.”

 

Chi-Chi’s lips parted at his alarming statement, her mind whirring over how he knew who Lapis was, while the man himself only recognized his enormous companion. She still had no idea what he was talking about, but she was able to gauge that he was under the wrong assumption that she’d _purposely_ sought him out.

 

How in the world would she be able to do that when she didn’t even have his number, let alone knew what he did?!

 

Chi-Chi rubbed her eye tiredly. “Look, Kakarrot… I have no clue what you’re talking about and honestly? I don’t care. Just… leave me alone.”

 

At that, he threw his hand in the air in apparent frustration. “What do you think I’ve been doing the past few months? But you keep _following_ me!”

 

Chi-Chi let out a mirthless laugh. “Are you kidding me? Is your ego that enormous? I’ve been _living my life_ , minding my own business. How am I following you? _You’re_ the one who shows up at _my_ place unannounced. I’ve never _once_ reached out to you—because, how?”

 

“Don’t tell me you were at Frost Realty just looking for a condo,” he shot back.

 

That was _exactly_ what she was doing. “Yes, actually. Papa was trying to get me to buy something expensive.”

 

At that, Kakarrot’s lips dipped. He started to look confused. “And now?”

 

“It’s my best friend’s birthday,” Chi-Chi told him. “I don’t know if you noticed anyone in my crew, but Bulma was the one that helped save your life. The girl in the green wig.”

 

He leaned back, his hand going to his mouth. “Agent Gero? That’s too much. You can’t—”

 

Chi-Chi shrugged, wondering where this was going. She felt like she was being interrogated. “Lapis is a friend. Who happens to be gay.”

 

She wasn’t sure why she added the last part—ugh, that was a lie. She wanted to reassure the stupid man that nothing was going to on between her and Lapis. Which was unnecessary and— _god, you are a mess, Chi-Chi Mau,_ she told herself.

 

She tore her eyes from Kakarrot who was now shaking his head slightly while staring at her. “There’s too many coincidences.”

 

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Chi-Chi said. She rolled her eyes and snorted. “Maybe it’s fate. We’re doomed to run into each other for all eternity to piss each other off.”

 

“You… really have no clue what I’m talking about.”

 

“No, I don’t. Not that I ever did anyway.”

 

The bartender gingerly came forward and placed the cocoa and slice of cake in front of her. Chi-Chi stared at the sweet concoction, her appetite gone. She forced herself to pick up the fork and noticed Kakarrot look around them. It was pretty late, already past two in the morning, so they were the only ones around at this point.

 

“Agent Gero is off duty?” he asked.

 

“We ran off from your table the moment he recognized your … _friend_ because he didn’t want to deal with work,” Chi-Chi said haltingly. She pushed the cake around with her fork. She was trying her best to control her emotions, but tension practically radiated from Kakarrot and she was trying her _hardest_ not to comfort him. He was in a lot of trouble, she could tell, and he was worried and unsure.

 

“I’m fucked,” he murmured to himself, propping his elbow on the counter. He tilted his head and laid it on his fist. She eyed him briefly and he flashed her a tight, self-deprecating smirk.

 

Chi-Chi couldn’t help it, she dropped her fork and turned to him. “I can help you. You saw. I’m friends with _Bulma Briefs_. I’m friends with someone who works for the FBI. Let me help. I can _vouch_ for—”

 

“No, Florence,” he said tiredly. “I’m an idiot. I shouldn’t be talking to you. But I’m still here… fuck, what am I doing?”

 

He sighed heavily and pushed off the stool.

 

Chi-Chi forced herself to ignore him and stuffed a forkful of cake into her mouth. It tasted like ashes.

 

 _Stay on your stool, Mau_ , she told herself.

 

She managed another forkful before she pushed off the bar and frantically ran out the restaurant. He could have gone— she saw his retreating back down by the slot machines and she jogged toward him.

 

“Florence—?”

 

“You’re not alone,” she told him while holding back tears. “Let me help you. I want to help you.”

 

He closed his eyes briefly. “Florence, we’ve been through this.”

 

“Yes, and I don’t get why you won’t—”

 

Kakarrot grasped her arm abruptly and pulled her off to the side, as he arched his head around. “You’re making a scene. _Drop it_.”

 

“Or what? What are you going to do?” Chi-Chi challenged, wrenching her arm away from his grip. “You know what? There’s no point in reasoning with you. I’ll just go straight to Lapis—”

 

“Do you want me _dead_ so badly?” he broke in angrily.

 

“You’re b-being dramatic,” Chi-Chi exclaimed. Her heart was hammering so hard. “Lapis is a _friend_. He’ll _help_. Stop being so stubborn!”

 

Kakarrot stepped back and threw his hands up. “You know what, do what you want. That’s what you do anyway. I don’t have to worry about you when you have Agent Gero panting at your feet. Whatever happens from now on — I just don’t care.”

 

“That’s not true,” Chi-Chi burst out, her face flushed. “Stop… stop _lying_. I’m… I’m so tired of lies.” She took a step forward, her chin wobbling dangerously. He frowned but didn’t move back when she placed her palms on his chest.

 

He didn’t move back when she tentatively laid the side of her cheek on his broad torso. She could hear the rapid thrum of his heart beneath her ear.

 

“I care about you,” she whispered, and she felt the intake of his breath beneath her cheek. “And… and I think you care about me, too.”

 

He jerked away from her as if burned. “You’re delusional. Just because I don’t want either of us _dead_ doesn’t mean there's something more. Stay away from me.”

 

He was lying. And she was going to call him on his bluff.

 

“I’m in Room 1189,” she said coolly, reaching into her back pocket to grab her spare keycard. She had the other one in her wallet, just like Lapis.

 

And just like Lapis—

 

She smacked the card on his chest but Kakarrot let it drop to the ground.

 

She whirled back and didn’t wait to see whether he bent down to pick it up.

 

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It IS too much of a coincidence isn't it...? Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
> 
> Also, I want it to be clear that in this story Lapis _identifies_ as gay and there was no reason for anyone to doubt that. And he still considers himself that way. And no, Chi-Chi doesn't have some magical ability to "turn" him and he isn't being turned. My idea of his sexuality is that he finds Chi-Chi's personality appealing and therefore becomes attracted to her. In our current modern times, he's probably considered pansexual but the era he's currently in five years ago, didn't have that vocabulary readily available.
> 
> ... I also wanted to make it believable for some that Lapis could be Gohan's father. (eyes emoji) * cough cough *


	44. Chapter 44

_Earlier, Present Day…_

 

 

Bulma was second-guessing herself for the millionth time, an uncommon occurrence. Usually, once she made up her mind, she was set — she was one of the world’s smartest women after all. She often looked at every angle of every situation she was in. It helped her in life, it helped her as a doctor.

 

It didn’t mean she always made the _right_ decision, but she didn’t worry about consequences until they happened.

 

And even _then_ , she usually had contingency plans in place.

 

This time, she was moving blind, making her decision based on flimsy parameters and… _trust_.

 

Was this the equal to negotiating with terrorists? Bulma thought with dark humor. It seemed that way. But, considering the man in her custody was able to figure out how to escape a high-tech enclosure — did she have a choice?

 

And while it went against _every scientific nerve in her body_ , Bulma had a _feeling_ her earlier conclusion that Vegeta had no wish to harm her was true.

 

He had let her guide the entire fiasco with her security team. It could have gone a lot of different, awful, stupid ways. He hadn’t lied about being ready to die, but she suspected he wanted to see whether _she_ deemed him ready.

 

It was manipulative _and_ abusive, not to mention unfair of him to place that burden on her shoulders — but what was fair about all this?

 

Vegeta wasn’t a man who played fair — ever.

 

This was completely new territory.

 

But, she suspected, this was new to _him,_ too.

 

It was strange, though, to quietly observe him as she walked him through Capsule Corp. She noted the way he scanned the area, how closely he tailed slightly behind her — like he anticipated an attack at any moment. Which, she supposed was realistic. Fortunately, there wasn’t anyone wandering in this secure area of Capsule Corp.

 

She realized he was cataloguing everything like she had when he’d taken her hostage. It was truly surreal to understand how much the tables had turned, that he was being _rightfully_ cautious.

 

She bit her lip slightly when she remembered he was also barefoot, padding around in nothing but gym attire. She’d have to change that. She paused her steps right before the door leading to the more _public_ area of Capsule Corp.

 

“We might pass some people on the way to your new room,” Bulma told him. She paused, searching his face for any sign that he would betray her. She grasped his arm. “Promise me you’ll behave.”

 

He rolled his dark eyes briefly. “We set out terms. I agreed to them.”

 

She stared at him for a few more seconds. It was now or never. She really hoped she was doing the right thing. Bulma dropped her hand then pushed the doors open with her shoulder.

 

“You’re going to be treated like a Capsule Corp employee,” Bulma said brusquely. Low enough so only he could hear, as she walked him through their research compound. “Besides security who understand who you are, the rest of our staff will think you’re just another one of them.”

 

He kept pace with her rapid stride, and Bulma was pleased to see that most of her employees didn’t even blink as they strode past. She supposed most people were used to seeing her wandering around with strange people, barefoot and all. And Vegeta was in Capsule Corp gear, albeit casually done.

 

“I’d like to assign you work that’s in line with your strengths. Where did you go to school?” Bulma asked as they both kept their head forward and walked at a brisk pace.

 

“I didn’t.”

 

Bulma nearly tripped on her feet and shifted her eyes behind her briefly before continuing.

 

“Orphaned at five, remember?” he went on lightly, like he was remarking on the weather.

 

Bulma frowned.

 

“Regretting your ‘generous’ job offer now?” he added with a slight laugh, but he sounded genuinely amused. “I was assigned tutors when I was found. I haven’t had the most traditional route with education.”

 

Education and other things, Bulma thought. Though she was still confused about his answer. There was something _off_ with the way he phrased that. _Tutors?_ That wasn’t something a homeless kid who had a troubled upbringing would have.

 

She would have to talk to him deeper about this.

 

When she led them out the building to head to the residential area, he winced at how bright it was outside and his pace slowed down. The action made her feel a weird sense of guilt; he’d been indoors all this time. He was dangerous, yes, but… there’d been no windows in his prison.

 

Was he right? Was she as a bad as Frieza?

 

She bit the inside of her cheek and shook her head internally. No. He was a good manipulator. She wasn’t going to fall for this.

 

The path grew increasingly lush as the evidence of her mother’s landscaping started to reveal itself the closer they got to the house.

 

Honestly, she wasn’t sure if it totally made sense to keep Vegeta _here_ , specifically. But, she sure as hell wasn’t going to let him room in the employee quarters, too far away for her to watch and _too close_ to Kakarrot!

 

When their large, but decided un-modern home revealed itself, his steps stopped completely so his head could crane upwards to take their monster home in. Bulma paused at the threshold after she unlocked the door.

 

“Where did you take me?” he asked gruffly.

 

Bulma forced herself to keep his gaze. “My house.”

 

He blinked slowly.

 

“Or, technically, my parents,” Bulma clarified. Her childhood home, in fact. "Mom's usually out and about this time of day, or else I'd introduce you."

 

He kept his expression even but she could tell by his wandering eyes that he was growing more confused.

 

“What’s your angle?” he demanded. She stifled the urge to sigh.

 

While the house was just a regular ol’ house, she felt in control of this space. She knew every nook and cranny. If all the security and technology in the world wasn’t going to _physically_ keep him in…

 

… she had to find a way for him to _want_ to stay. She began to see the entire reason her father treated Vegeta nicely in the first place. While many considered her intellect far superior to her father’s, Boxa Briefs was still able to surprise her with how _quickly_ he could read a situation.

 

How well he could read a person.

 

It took a while for Bulma to catch up but it was clear this wasn’t a game she could win through threats or even through intellectual, clever means.

 

This entire time, the game was emotional in nature.

 

Vegeta’s vindictive pursuit of Kakarrot; his obsessive need to validate his past… none of that was logical.

 

All of it was personal.

 

Her father had purposely assigned _her_ to lead this task because that _was_ where she was best. Her natural empathy. She had thought it a weakness, but here, right now… _mixed_ with her intellect?

 

She should have trusted her father more.

 

She should have trusted herself, but she’d been busy doubting and rejecting her nature.

 

She had to make it clear that everything was in Vegeta’s best interest. He’d be stupid not to co-operate.

 

And Vegeta wasn’t stupid.

 

“Come on, follow me. I’ll show you to your room,” Bulma said, her tone unchanged. She didn’t wait for him to acknowledge her and beelined to the stairs down the hall that led to the second floor. She didn’t need to look back to know he was following her up the flight of stairs.

 

In no time, she led him to a massive room.

 

“Ta da,” Bulma said with a sweep of her hand. Vegeta had his arms crossed as he walked through the room’s threshold, his expression unreadable. He observed the cozy setup complete with a King-sized bed, expansive windows that looked into the gardens, almost clinically.

 

“This is fine,” he said, his face and voice impassive.

 

“This is where we usually put up _friends_ who visit from out of town,” Bulma said with a piqued tone. He sounded _so_ ungrateful. She took him to a goddamn _luxury_ suite. It wasn’t just an upgrade from his cell; this really _would_ be like the Ritz Carlton.

 

He didn’t respond, only looked at her expectantly.

 

Bulma swallowed a sigh as she showed him where everything was, eventually walking through the enormous ensuite bath to the other side where a door led to a walk-in closet. She waited a little as he lingered behind to review the ensuite, with its hexagonal tiles and marble counters. The shower was large enough to fit two people and had every configuration imaginable.

 

She observed as he ran his hands over the luxurious bath towels hung to the side and him flicking the taps on and off. His movements were slow and deliberate, like he was committing the entire place to memory.

 

Bulma shifted in her feet, as a layer of sadness suddenly blanketed the room.

 

She wasn’t sure what to make of that, the sudden shift in his mood, the shift in the atmosphere.

 

Finally, he caught up to her and she smiled at him brightly, hoping to quickly get things back on track. “If you tell me where you live, I’ll have someone from my staff bring over your clothes.”

 

He moved his gaze away from her to review the empty shelves of the walk-in closet.

 

“No,” he said idly, as he ran his palm across an empty shelf. “Parts of my life should remain my own.”

 

Bulma blinked at that, the reminder of everything he had lost. His own fault, Bulma reminded herself when a sliver of pity snaked in. Still, she wasn’t sure what to say or make of the melancholy way he wandered around the closet.

 

He craned his head around, taking the ensuite in. “Where are the cameras?”

 

It took a moment for Bulma to parse his question because it was so unexpected. “What are you talking about?”

 

“It was clear where I had to turn in the cell. Where do I look to talk to you or your father?”

 

Bulma’s lips flapped soundlessly for a bit before she understood that he thought that she’d placed him in… another prison?!

 

She looked around at the luxurious guest suite. He considered _this place_ a prison?!

 

“This is a regular ass room. This is _my house,”_ Bulma emphasized. “You’re here as a guest now.”

 

A line grew between his brows. “I’m not extending the month.”

 

The hell? Bulma didn’t recall asking for an extension. “I already _agreed_ to the month.”

 

He caught her gaze and stared at her inscrutably for an uncomfortably long time. Bulma refused to tear her eyes away first, so she only lifted her brows in silent question. After a few moments of this strange impasse, he stepped back and strode quickly away.

 

Caught by surprise, Bulma jumped then jogged quickly behind him. “H-hey where are you—?”

 

Bulma thought she had a handle on the way his mind worked, even just a little, but she was utterly lost at where this train was headed.

 

“What is _wrong_ with you? _More_ so?” Bulma exclaimed.

 

Instead of answering, he went to her door to check the handle and locking mechanism. He jiggled it a bit, locking and unlocking it a few times, swinging it around in confusion, like he’d never seen a door before in his life.

 

It was like watching an alien figure out how doors worked!

 

“Regular lock,” he murmured. “No biometrics, nothing…”

 

Bulma let out a startled laugh. “Yeah. Just because we’re on Capsule Corp, doesn’t mean _everything_ here is high tech.”

 

He frowned in response, then pointed to the door across the way. “Where does that go?”

 

Bulma pursed her lips and was silent for a few beats. This was awkward.

 

“My room.”

 

“You put me right across from you,” he said flatly.

 

“Yeah, so I can keep an eye on you,” she said matter-of-factly, pointing two fingers to her eyes then toward his. The “duh” was left unsaid. They had many guest rooms in the house, but she felt uneasy having him anywhere near her parents — down the hallway where the other row of guest rooms were — and Vegeta’s room was the only other spare room this side of the house.

 

Abruptly, Vegeta stalked past her and out the door, straight to her bedroom.

 

“H-hey!” she protested when he waltzed right in. What the hell?

 

Again, Bulma thought he resembled an alien who had just landed on Earth for the first time, the way he observed and moved around. He walked toward a wall of full of academic awards and medals, besides hung pictures of high school and college graduation.

 

“This is your room,” he said, stating the obvious. He tentatively touched a stuffed black cat toy on dresser, poking it like it was diseased. “Your _childhood_ room.”

 

He ran his hand through his hair, then covered his mouth, finally turning to face her. Alien, she thought again, the way he observed her like she was some sort of new specimen he just met. His brows were furrowed so sharply, like if he concentrated enough, he could read her mind.

 

For a split second, she wondered if he could.

 

He said nothing, shaking his head, as he stalked out of her room as quickly as he entered. Bulma had no choice but to jog after him. He paused while they were in the hallway, as he stared around like they were right outside his cell, waiting for someone to attack him.

 

All at once, she understood.

 

 _What have I put myself into_ , she thought. She hadn’t thought about how jarring it would be to be placed under 24/7 surveillance in an isolated chamber for weeks on end, to be introduced to its opposite in every way.

 

And he wasn’t stable _before_ all that happened.

 

After a few more moments of silently standing in the hallway seemingly staring at nothing, he turned to look at her again.

 

“Weirdo,” Bulma said.

 

He continued to step backward through his room’s doorway.

 

“Have my books and music brought up,” he said.

 

Then slammed his room’s door shut.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

Half an hour later, Bulma walked back up to the rooms with the bag of books and his music player. It took a little longer because she’d lingered behind to note the weak area of the cell. It would take longer for her to figure out _how_ he found that area out and understand that it was tied to the entire circuitry. So, she left after a short time, resolving to ask him directly about it as one of the items he needed to disclose.

 

She leaned forward and knocked on the door.

 

“Hey, asshole. Got your stuff,” Bulma said, knocking once more.

 

Silence.

 

“Hello?” she tried again, knocking.

 

When there was no response, Bulma immediately thought the worst: Did he actually _manage to escape_ in thirty fucking minutes?! Was she naive to think he would actually keep his promises?!

 

He was a master assassin for _Frieza Kold_ for god’s sake!

 

“Fucking fuck,” Bulma muttered, dropping the bag of books to free her hand. When she opened the door, she gasped.

 

The entire room was completely upturned!

 

Blankets and pillows were strewn all over the floor, drawers open in all the dressers and toiletries were haphazardly thrown around. It looked like a band trashed the room during a drug-induced episode.

 

“ _What the hell!_ ” Bulma exclaimed, scrambling around and picking up the pillows and blankets and throwing them back onto the bed in a heap.

 

How could she have trusted him _not_ to leave over some stupid verbal agreement?

 

Why did she put him in a _normal_ room, instead of one with high security?

 

Why was she so stupid when it came to him!?

 

Bulma shook her hands to release her panicky feeling, as she paced around the room, noting all the destruction. Even the damn curtains were torn down! Bulma walked toward the now exposed windows to gather her bearings and think about next steps, reaching into her pocket with full intention to unleash her entire security team on this madman—

 

— a movement outside the window caught her eye.

 

She slowly lowered the phone in her hand as the man she was currently panicking about materialized below the window, walking at a leisurely pace on the grass of their gardens. His arms were crossed, as usual, like he was lording over the property.

 

He didn’t seem like someone on the lam. All his movements, pausing and standing there, observing the landscape — it all looked like someone who was trying to get a sense of the area.

 

And she was more amazed when, right in the middle of the grass, he sat down cross-legged.

 

So… he wasn’t planning an escape? Bulma wondered, confused. She turned back toward the room, at all the destruction. Then what was _this_ all about? Did he vandalize a beautiful room out of frustration?

 

Bulma made her way quickly down the stairs and out the door, heading straight toward his still figure. Was he meditating?

 

No, she noted, since he was still staring ahead, seemingly at nothing.

 

He didn’t move to acknowledge her, or even indicate any surprise at her approach.

 

She threw her hands in the air silently to showcase her exasperation. When he didn’t react, she sighed and plopped down inelegantly beside him on the grass.

 

“You can’t just waltz out without asking,” Bulma told him sternly.

 

Finally, he angled his eyes toward her, though he kept his body straight. “I’m still on the grounds. You never said anything about not leaving the building.”

 

Bulma leaned back. “Okay, I’m telling you now. I’ve already given you a _lot_ of fucking leeway, I think. Unless you want to wear an ankle bracelet?”

 

It wasn’t really something that she would actually do. Especially since she doubted it’d be physically possible without some violent way to restrain him and that would take co-ordination and set back the new direction she wanted to take with this investigation. He didn’t respond, only continued to stare.

 

“You’re cleaning up the mess you made upstairs,” Bulma tried to snap but it came out more resigned.

 

“No recording devices. No cameras,” he said finally, as if that explained everything. “No motion detectors, except a couple of generic window sensors.”

 

Bulma groaned, dropping her head to her hand. He trashed the room because he was convinced that she was trying to monitor him.

 

“So paranoid. How many times do I have to say that’s a normal room! I’m a genius, but I’m not _The Flash_. When would I have time to outfit some state-of-the-art system to keep you in? That was what _your cell_ was for, which clearly wasn’t enough. So what’s even the point of trying to clamp you down more? We’re past that now.”

 

“I don’t know if you’re very stupid or very smart,” he said. “Maybe an odd mixture of both.”

 

Bulma flushed, insulted. “Excuse me?”

 

“ _I_ wouldn’t trust me,” he drawled, the cut side of his mouth quirking, the cut that was _just_ healing over opening again. He flicked his tongue against the side and finally turned his head to regard her fully.

 

Bulma laid her cheek on her fist, trying to ignore how the movement drew her attention straight to his mouth. “Don’t keep doing that, you’re just going to slow down the healing.”

 

She sighed when he continued to look at her and she understood that he was waiting for her to respond to his unanswered question:

 

Why _did_ she take his words at face value?

 

“I don’t think… _trust_ is the right word. Not right now,” Bulma said honestly, after a few more moments contemplation. “More like… _hope_. I hope you’re a man of your word. You hope I’m a woman of _my_ word. You hope that I’m able to finally find the truth. That’s why you’re going to _stick_ to your word.”

 

She tilted her head, trying to read him, which was proving impossible. He remained silent, staring pensively ahead.

 

“Plus, you like me,” Bulma added, her tone perky as she tried to desperately lighten the atmosphere. He rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner. Mission Lighten Mood accomplished!

 

Encouraged, Bulma added a small flick of her pixie cut, nudging him teasingly with her shoulder. “Because, who can blame you? I’m the most gorgeous woman you’ve ever seen. I’m the most brilliant. You’ll never meet anyone more charming, kind and generous —”

 

He scoffed, uncrossing his arms to lean back on the ground. They were sitting close enough for his limbs to brush against her incidentally.

 

But the way his fingers lingered a little too long over the sides of her own was not.

 

It was a caress, like earlier, with his lips on her knuckles…

 

She remained still, her lashes fluttering in surprise at the affectionate gesture. He was still looking ahead and made no sign that it had been deliberate. They weren’t touching any more, but it felt like a small acknowledgement of her words, a subtle agreement.

 

Bulma quickly drew her legs up and hugged her knees, keeping herself as contained as possible.

 

What were they? Twelve? This wasn’t a harmless crush. And who was to say he wasn’t, once again, manipulating her soft heart to whatever purpose he had in mind?

 

A slight breeze tousled his dark flame of hair and he inhaled, breathing in the fresh air. He held it in for a moment, savoring the wind. Bulma realized the small action was him appreciating… life. The insight made her suddenly hyper aware of him: the way the sun hit the arresting angles of his cheeks, his jaw. His face had unique dips and extremes — just on the edge of traditionally handsome, but not quite. He was _interesting_ to look at.

 

She lifted her eyes to follow his gaze, out into the rows of perfectly imperfect landscaping — her mother had lovingly tended to these bushes, trees, flowers and vegetation for _years_. It was a bit haphazard, but it was beautiful.

 

He wasn’t smiling, but it struck Bulma how content Vegeta seemed just… sitting out on the earth, observing his surroundings, enjoying her mother’s hard work.

 

He belonged out _here,_ under the elements, out in the light.

 

He was a beautiful man, bruises and all.

 

She was startled by the way her chest tightened, her heart swelling with sadness. It was difficult to breathe. She had to turn her head to rest her cheek on her knees, staring away from him so she could gather herself.

 

This was disaster in the making.

 

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.

 

.

 


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of setup here. I know the past few chapters have been so much action, so take a break and enjoy a little bit of exposition. ;-)

_Now, Present Day…_

 

Krillin panicked immediately, scrambling to make coffee to perk himself enough to drive them both back to Capsule Corp. Goku would have offered to drive — he felt oddly calm — but last minute remembered that he didn’t have a license. He hadn’t driven a vehicle since he was _Kakarrot_.

 

Krillin impressively zipped through West City’s labyrinth of streets, muttering to himself to focus and not careen off somewhere because he was driving still a little high. The caffeine hadn’t quite sobered him up.

 

Goku stared sightlessly out the window as Krillin spoke to them both, but it was mostly to himself to calm down.

 

“We’re good. We’re safe,” Krillin repeated.

 

“Don’t worry about coming in. Drop me off and _go_ ,” Goku said as he watched Krillin nervously tap on the steering wheel while at a red light.

 

“If you think that’s— no,” Krillin said abruptly. “No. This is a shit show and you need moral support. I’ll be there.”

 

“I appreciate that Krill, I do, but it could get dangerous. You don’t have to,” Goku told him. A mixture of emotions were running through him, but all strangely muted, a little numbed. Krillin explained that meant he was probably still high, an effect of the magic pens. It felt weird being mad and relaxed at the same time.

 

Goku’s burner phone rang causing Krillin to jump a little, but Goku had expected an update, so opened it without preamble.

 

“Yes?” he answered.

 

“Hello, young man, it’s Captain Kami.”

 

Goku straightened in his seat, flushing a little. It had been a while since he heard Kami’s voice. This was _serious_.

 

“Hello, yes, sir,” Goku responded after clearing his throat. “Is there an update on the situation? We are—”

 

“—fifteen minutes—” Krillin supplied.

 

“—fifteen minutes away,” Goku said.

 

“I’m calling to apologize on behalf of my nephew who may have needlessly caused you alarm,” the old man said over the phone. “It was an unclear situation at first, but we have everything under control now. Piccolo is currently having a dialogue with the Prince.”

 

Goku leaned forward on his seat. “The Prince is back in custody?”

 

“In not so many words.”

 

Goku didn’t like the way he phrased that. “Please explain.”

 

“Let me put Ms. Mau on the line to reassure you.”

 

Goku’s grip tightened on the receiver. “What?! She shouldn’t be anywhere _near—”_

 

“Hi, Goku.”

 

Goku’s fingers flexed nervously. Chi-Chi sounded tired, quiet. He felt so helpless…!

 

“Chi-Chi,” he greeted, his voice straining to be calm. He noticed Krillin flash him a curious glance at his welcome. “Are you okay? How is Gohan?”

 

“We’re… safe, I guess?”

 

She sounded as uncertain as he was and it made him all the more concerned. Enough was enough.

 

“Don’t worry. I’ll… I’ll take us away. We’ll — Krillin’s here with me. We’ll pick you up and we’ll go as far from Capsule Corp as possible.”

 

Krillin flashed him a look and nodded silently to show his consent.

 

“It’s hard to explain over the phone, so get here soon. I’m going to let you go,” she said, sounding stiff and very much unlike herself. His grip on the phone tightened, his heart thudding against his chest. Goku shook his head, even though she couldn’t see him.

 

“Wait—”

 

The only response he received was a dial tone.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

Goku was unsettled. There always seemed to be a looming sense of “hurry up and wait” with this entire situation. Everything was urgent, but he could only do so much. He tried not to jog or rush through the secure entrance of Capsule Corp, since he wanted to be calm when Gohan saw him.

 

He used his CC badge and his fingerprints to get both Krillin and him through the foyer entrance. This area was usually eerily quiet since it was the high security area of Capsule Corp, an only specific individuals were allowed through.

 

So Gohan’s wail down the hall rang as clear as a bell. Krillin shared a slightly alarmed look when he registered the crying.

 

The both took off running. Forget being calm! After what seemed like an eternity — was the hallway _alway_ s this long? — Goku burst into the common area.

 

He almost careened into the block of bodies at the entranceway — Piccolo, Kami, Bulma and a large man he vaguely recognized but couldn’t quite place due to his alarm and panic — and stopped himself just in time.

 

Where was Chi-Chi? Gohan?!

 

“Mr. Korzen—” Kami greeted pleasantly enough, but another peal of cries from his son drew his attention.

 

He didn’t care if he was being rude, he brushed past them to follow the sound of his son’s cries.

 

“Daddy, daddy!” Gohan shrieked, a few steps behind the group of bodies blocking the entrance. Chi-Chi was currently crouched holding one of Gohan’s wrists, a baggie of veggies dangling from her fingertips, while the other held a carrot. It was apparent that she was _trying_ to feed their boy, but he was refusing.

 

“Oh!” Chi-Chi exclaimed, startled at Gohan’s outburst and how he wriggled out of her grip to launch himself at Goku’s legs.

 

“Oh, hey, kiddo, whoa,” Goku said, trying to stem all his worry from his voice. He seemed fine, he was fine, right? Chi-Chi jogged toward him, her expression one of frustration. He noted her scrubs and the darkness around her eyes — she’d worked a long shift and seemed to have gone straight to Capsule Corp after. She waved the carrot in her hand around.

 

“Your son’s being a little monster.”

 

He flashed her a sympathetic smile, then crouched down and gently pried his son off his legs. “Come on, Gohan, enough. If you’re so hungry, why didn’t you eat your veggies?”

 

“Yucky,” Gohan said between hiccups, rubbing his damp eyes.

 

“Are you kidding me? Carrots are my _favorite!_ If you’re not going to have them, I guess I’ll eat yours,” Goku said as cheerfully as he could manage despite the circumstances. One crisis at a time. He knew he could handle _this_ , at the very least.

 

He grasped Chi-Chi’s hand still holding the carrot and without hesitation stuffed the vegetable in his mouth. His lips caught some of Chi-Chi’s fingers at his action and she gasped softly in surprise. He rubbed his thumb against her palm and winked up at her.

 

He was pleased to see color flash through her cheeks, but was confused when she didn’t smile back and gently pulled her hand from his. He forced himself to focus on Gohan, even though the “welcome crowd” was now approaching them all.

 

“Mm, _so good,_ ” Goku said in an exaggerated manner, taking the bag from her other hand. “I’m _so_ hungry. I’m glad your mama cut up all these veggies.”

 

He proceeded to shove as much veggies into his mouth at once, his cheeks starting to resemble a chipmunk.

 

Gohan looked uncertain but chuckled despite himself. He tentatively reached out to get a chopped vegetable from Goku’s hand, but Goku gave him his shoulder and shook his head.

 

“No, all mine,” Goku mumbled with his mouth full. He struggled to chew up the veggies and swallow — despite her cold behavior from earlier, he saw Chi-Chi cover her mouth to stem laughter at his antics.

 

“ _Daddy!_ ” Gohan’s voice started to sound watery again.

 

Goku let out an exaggerated sigh and finally turned back to his son, passing over the remaining veggies. “All right. You better eat it fast, otherwise I’ll steal it from you.”

 

Gohan gasped and mimicked his movement earlier, turning his shoulder away so he could stuff veggies into his mouth. Goku ruffled Gohan’s hair right before he straightened to his full height.

 

“Unfair. I’ve been trying to get him to eat this for half an hour to tide him over until dinner was ready,” Chi-Chi said, giving Gohan a light noogie over the top of his head as he gingerly ate his veggies. Chi-Chi fluttered her eyes up at him in gratefulness and he was overwhelmed with the sudden need to crush her to him, to hold her until he was sure she was real and assure her that everything was okay.

 

But he could sense that things were not at all okay.

 

All at once he realized they had an audience. He’d been momentarily distracted trying to calm his child down. Krillin was awkwardly shifting his feet on the side, while that large bearded man walking toward them was openly staring, his mouth agape.

 

“Chi-Chi, you remember Krillin,” Goku said abruptly, clearing his throat. Chi-Chi nodded and smiled. “And Krill, not sure if you were introduced to my son when you were here last, but this is Gohan.”

 

“Wow, yeah, hi. I mean, we met, but we were never formally introduced,” Krillin said, his jaw near the floor. Krillin waved at his son, who was now playing at shy, hiding behind Chi-Chi’s legs. “Uh, I mean—man! Goku. You’re a _dad!_ ”

 

“Yeah,” Goku laughed lightly, pride filling him. He’d never get tired of hearing it.

 

“Well, one crisis averted,” Kami said lightly as he approached, his eyes crinkling with warmth toward Gohan. Kami patted Goku’s back comfortingly once he reached him. “Mr. Korzen, as you can see, everyone is fine.”

 

Goku saw Chi-Chi’s jaw harden and Bulma’s eyes move to the side. It was comically obvious that everyone was _not_ fine. Healthy and in one piece, sure. But Chi-Chi was acting oddly, Bulma Briefs was _never_ one to avert her gaze, and… and who was that big bearded guy anyway?

 

“There’s a _lot_ to talk about,” Bulma said, her tone all business as her gaze moved toward him. Her expression was calm, but Goku could read weariness that wasn’t normally there on her face. “But I think we should wait to discuss it all until after dinner.”

 

Goku shook his head. He was tired of being told what to do. His family’s safety was on the line and though he didn’t understand the reasons yet, Chi-Chi was definitely upset. He needed answers now.

 

“No. I think I deserve a summary first,” he said, looking at Piccolo who had crossed his arms and was staring at him stone-faced. He turned his stern gaze back at Bulma.

 

She blinked, clearly not anticipating the pushback. But before Bulma could respond, the bearded man broke in: “You look so much like your father.”

 

Goku whipped all his attention to the man. “Excuse me?”

 

The large gentleman cleared his throat while straightening his spine. It made him seem impossibly larger as a result.

 

“Hello, I’m Ox Mau. Chi-Chi’s father.”

 

Goku’s eyes widened, then glanced at Chi-Chi briefly with questioning concern — she refused to meet his gaze, opting to keep her eyes toward their son. What was _that_ about? But his attention was put back toward the large man, who extended his hand and cleared his throat one more time.

 

“… and I know how you got to Papaya Island.”

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

Dinner was a blur.

 

Bulma was right. Everything was best discussed more deeply after dinner. Goku thought he would be used to major revelations by now, but he was thrown, once again. He was sitting right across from a man who _knew his father_ and the circumstances that led him to Papaya Island. Beside Ox Mau was the woman who decided, without consulting anyone, it was appropriate to move The Prince to a different location.

 

He wasn’t sure which situation to focus on first.

 

He had to resist the urge to manually carry Chi-Chi and Gohan out of here, out of Capsule Corp, out of West City.

 

Just _out._

 

But that was a fairy tale and he was in a nightmare, listening to the summary he demanded they give him. Piccolo was terse but complete about Goku’s main concern: The prince was _moved_ , and no, they weren’t going to tell him where, but everything was _fine_.

 

 _Liars,_ he thought angrily.

 

When dinner wrapped up, Bulma disappeared immediately along with her mother. No explanation. Goku noted that she didn’t even acknowledge Chi-Chi as she left.

 

They were angry with each other, Goku deduced. He couldn’t blame Chi-Chi — not only did Bulma along with the WCPD keep the fact the Prince was still _alive_ away from her, they were in the same vicinity of the man that kidnapped their son. Goku was livid _and_ scared when he found out, unsure who to trust. He could only imagine what Chi-Chi was going through.

 

What to focus on first was decided when Chi-Chi, Gohan, Krillin and Ox left for the common room to give them some space. He tried to kiss Chi-Chi right before she went, but she deftly turned her head, the movement so unexpected he almost pitched forward. He caught himself in time; he was confused and embarrassed at her rather blatant — and public — rejection.

 

They _did_ talk about the privacy of their relationship and maybe he had overstepped with everyone still in the room? Or because her father was around? He only wanted a quick peck, nothing inappropriate.

 

Krillin’s wide eyes telegraphed the same confusion, punctuated with a slight shrug. His shorter friend mouthed, “Women” while gesturing lightly, like that explained everything.

 

Maybe she was mad because he wasn’t at Capsule Corp to _prevent_ this entire Prince fiasco? He _had_ promised to protect their family and maybe she considered this a failure of that.

 

He _felt_ like an utter failure.

 

He didn’t have time to really dwell, though, since they all quickly left for the common area while Piccolo and Kami stayed back in the dining hall to debrief him.

 

“The Prince’s co-operation is legitimate,” Piccolo told him bluntly, getting straight to the point once they were all alone. “I thought Briefs was insane by moving him out of his cell, but whatever she said to him…” The sentence was left hanging with… _implication_. Like Piccolo believed something _more_ was being exchanged.

 

Goku immediately felt intensely uncomfortable. He didn’t know Bulma Briefs very well, but she was a _lady_ — yes, a bit brash at times, but she was incredibly professional — and he didn’t like Piccolo’s suggestive tone.

 

It would be insane to even contemplate. The man had kidnapped and terrorized her. Piccolo was being an ass, Goku concluded.

 

“Malaka, Guldo, the shipping yard, and the weapons cache — your hunch was right. It’s all connected,” Piccolo continued. “It’s an intricate supply chain.”

 

“How do you _know_ it’s legitimate? He could be making it up,” Goku pointed out.

 

Kami and Piccolo exchanged looks, before Kami nodded. “Son, from all accounts, the reason we believe it’s legitimate is that the Prince was responsible for its planning.”

 

Goku shook his head in numb amazement. “What? That’s ops. Isn’t he supposed to be the muscle?”

 

Piccolo reached into his jacket and pulled out a pen stuck to a notepad and flipped to a clean page. He drew four circles, one at the top, then three right below it, then lines leading up to the top circle. He then added one line between the two bottom circles, leaving the third circle on its own.

 

“This, at the top? This is Frieza,” Piccolo explained. “But no one gets to the top without help. No one _stays_ on top without help. Every criminal organization behaves like its own mini government. You need leadership to handle politics, process and people.”

 

Piccolo circled the two circles on the left, the one with the line between them.

 

“But you also need a Department of Defense.”

 

Piccolo added a checkmark by the lone circle.

 

“Mr. Kold is getting on his age, much like myself,” Kami continued with a self-deprecating smile. “He’s legacy planning. He has no heirs. So he’s testing out his successors.”

 

Piccolo took his notebook to his palm and scribbled on it before showing it back to him. The names Dodoria and Zarbon were on the left circles and The Prince / Vegeta was on the right, lone circle.

 

“Look, it’s easy to lop off the top guy,” Piccolo went on, adding a dramatic slash over the top circle. “He’s public. We could make it look like an accident. You think we haven’t thought about it?”

 

Goku’s blood ran cold. It was such a dark acknowledgement, so calmly said, from a _law enforcement_ officer.

 

“You think _The Prince_ hasn’t thought about it? Or these other losers?” Piccolo scoffed, flicking the pen against his notebook. “Kold is an abrasive monster. He’s not known for _kindness_ even amongst his inner circle.”

 

“Mutually assured destruction,” Goku murmured, catching Piccolo’s train of thought.

 

“Exactly. In every scenario we’ve brainstormed to take the guy out leads to _more_ bloodshed and chaos. Our job is to _avoid_ that. I honestly don’t give a shit about his lackeys — they can all die in a dumpster fire — but regular people tend to be the largest casualties in a conflict like this. _That_ , I have a problem with. We take out Frieza directly, one of these three bozos are going to try to take control,” Piccolo said sharply.

 

“We would have a civil war on our hands,” Kami expanded, calm and collected. “Which would lead to that mutually assured destruction, as you’ve pointed out. However, everyone believes The Prince is dead.”

 

Piccolo struck out the right-hand circle.

 

“Which leaves Zarbon and Dodoria as next-in-line for Kold’s favor,” Kami went on. “But considering that the Prince is still alive, it’s in his best interest to eliminate _all_ his enemies while _here_. It would leave him open to take control, if he so wishes, once Frieza and his deputies are dealt with. The ensuing chaos would be ripe for new leadership to step in.”

 

“Cut off the head, another one grows. So you need to cut off _all_ the heads at once,” Piccolo said, finally running his pen through the left-hand side. “ _Now_ do you get why we’re playing nice with the asswipe? He’s willing to comply so we can lop off _all_ heads at once.”

 

“What happens when it works?” Goku pressed, still doubtful. He understood what they were trying to say and it made sense, but it still seemed incredibly shortsighted. “Say the Prince spills everything he knows, we corner Zarbon and the Dodo guy, and then we’re free to arrest Frieza. The board is clear. You’re going to let him _take over_? What’s the point of all of this if we’re just helping the _next_ leader of the syndicate?!”

 

“Son, we have to make some difficult choices if we want to win this war,” Kami said. “The reality is we have little choice and you've set up a very ideal situation. The best we can hope for at this point is eliminating our _mutual_ enemies. And through that, with the hopeful guidance of Dr. Briefs, we can convince the Prince to _stay_ on our side. The alternative is to incarcerate him indefinitely, move at a much slower pace and watch the body count climb. We’ve already had an uptick of violence since the Prince’s ‘death’ — Dodoria and Zarbon handle the Ginyu Force and they’re not known for subtlety and restraint.”

 

Goku frowned. From organizing his past investigation and isolating Ginyu vs. Saiyan incidents, he knew this to be true.

 

“So we’re all on the same side now?” Goku ventured reluctantly, after staring at Piccolo’s sketch.

 

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend… unfortunately,” Kami said with a small smile.

 

“Consider it a ceasefire,” Piccolo drawled. “I don’t give a fuck about Prince Prick. But as long as he’s _useful_ , he’s going to be my _best_ fucking friend.”

 

Goku decided that Piccolo had _zero_ friends based on that statement.

 

“I want to talk to him,” Goku said, crossing his arms. He wanted to judge this guy for himself. He realized he no longer trusted Capsule Corp _or_ the WCPD. They’d disappointed him enough.

 

“In due time,” Kami said with a nod.

 

“No. I’ll give it one week,” Goku said evenly. “And if I don’t get to talk to him, then I’m out. I’m _done_ , really fucking done, with being left out of important parts of this investigation. Either I’m _all_ in, or I’m out. _All_ out.”

 

Goku was well aware he was acting more like Kakarrot. He didn’t want to curse in front of Captain Kami, but it seemed they mistook his kindness as complacency. He was done being passive.

 

Piccolo sneered and looked ready to protest when Kami raised his hand.

 

“I cannot give you a timeline. My priority is _safety_ ,” he said firmly. His voice was still kind but held a thread of steel. Goku was very suddenly aware he was speaking to _the Captain_ of their org. “But rest assured, expediting your meeting is in our best interests as well. We want to make sure it’s _productive,_ not _destructive_. Please keep that in mind.”

 

“I haven’t asked for much this entire mess,” Goku began after counting to ten, a trick Grampy taught him when he was getting impatient. “I don’t think my request is unreasonable _._ Make it work. I _also_ have our best interests in mind. I _also_ want to make it productive. Why are we bending over backwards because _he’s_ unstable?”

 

Piccolo barked out a laugh. “And _you’re_ the paragon of stability?”

 

“Please don’t misunderstand. I know you’ve made a lot of sacrifices for us,” Kami said softly, leaning forward so he could grasp his arm. “You’ve done a lot with very little in this short amount of time; you did a lot before you disappeared five years ago. I appreciate you. And I hear your concerns. I know you must worry about your son.”

 

Goku wasn’t sure what it was about Kami… maybe because he reminded him so much of Grampy. But, Goku heard sincerity in his tone and him articulating his worries and fears out loud made him feel acknowledged.

 

Still, he had to set some sort of boundaries. “I can’t keep being pushed to the sidelines. I need assurances that he won’t come after my family.”

 

Piccolo sighed, and exchanged a look with Kami before looking at him. “Then you’re going to have to end… whatever it is going on between you and Mau.”

 

Goku blinked rapidly, totally not expecting that suggestion. “What? What does that—”

 

“Mr. Mau, her father, had a suggestion… and we agree it may be a smart way to… _deflect_ attention from you,” Kami said carefully. “Temporary. Only until we’ve neutralized the Prince’s intensely negative feelings toward you.”

 

“We gotta make him think Gohan ain’t yours,” Piccolo said without further preamble, shocking Goku. “That he got it all wrong and jumped to conclusions. If he thinks you’re not screwing the nurse and never _have_ , why would he go after her? And if Gohan’s not yours, targeting him is essentially useless.”

 

Goku’s mind whirled. He was warring with feeling angry with the frank logic that Piccolo was outlining. But, then, he caught something from his words.

 

“Wait, _Mr. Mau—_ ”

 

“We already discussed particulars with Ms. Mau and her father, yes,” Kami broke in. Goku covered his mouth to stem himself from shouting. _That_ was why she was acting so odd? So cold?

 

“ _Apparently_ ,” Piccolo drawled, his lips twisting, “It wouldn’t be too far off to do. Even Briefs thought for a hot minute that another guy was the father. It makes sense. There’s _history_ there. It’d be easy to present him as his real dad.”

 

Goku’s frown deepened, a weird discomfort coiling around his stomach and chest. The thought — the _speculation_ , even — of Chi-Chi being with another man filled him with a mixture of rage and despair. He knew it was unfair. He was gone for five years. Why would he wish her loneliness? Why would he want his son to be fatherless?

 

But someone else being considered Gohan’s “real” dad?

 

It made him sick.

 

“In order for this to work, whoever this false father is would have to comply to further the narrative. The Prince is someone who verifies his assumptions,” Goku said after he once again counted to ten. A much _slower_ countdown.

 

Piccolo’s shoulders relaxed, like he’d been bracing himself for a fight and was relieved when he reached a logical conclusion.

 

“Good. You’re thinking with your brain,” Piccolo said, tapping his temple. “And Bogus Baby Daddy won’t be a problem. Y’all were smart enough to keep things secret all those years ago, enough for this lie to work… but when your woman’s friends with the FBI, kinda hard for things to pass without notice.”

 

“Agent Gero has been briefed. He understands the situation. He’ll be joining our task force as our federal consultant,” Kami went on. At Goku’s increasingly agitated and confused expression, Kami’s tone gentled. “We’re still leading the investigation, but we often collaborate with the FBI. Agent Gero has a library of information against Dodoria Dikobraz and Zarbon Rèptil, but have little to no information on the Saiyans… which, thanks to your diligent undercover work, _we_ have to share. Plus, not to mention, we have the leader in our custody.”

 

Goku shook his head. There was just too much information to parse. “Sorry, can you back up? Who’s Agent Gero?”

 

“Oh, apologies, young man,” Kami said. “Agent Lapis Gero investigates illegal weapon trades. He works under the organized crime unit in our jurisdiction. He also happens to be a close family friend of the Maus and the Briefs.”

 

“Okay, sorry, I just got lost for a second. We were setting up a narrative where someone else was Gohan’s father. We got sidetracked discussing the new person on our team,” Goku said while rubbing the back of his neck.

 

Kami and Piccolo exchanged looks.

 

“Hey, dumbass, he’s the same person,” Piccolo said dryly.

 

Goku’s lips dipped. “What?”

 

“Piccolo,” Kami said sharply, flashing him a disapproving look. He turned back to Goku. “I apologize, there has been a lot of revelations this evening, hasn’t there?”

 

“Stop treating him with kid gloves. If he thinks he can handle walking into a room with The Prince, he can handle _this_ ,” Piccolo snapped, shaking his head. He crossed his arms and leaned forward. “As far as everyone is concerned — the _public_ , the _Prince_ — you were just some guy who maybe had a crush on Mau.”

 

Goku couldn’t stop his frown from deepening. He didn’t like how flippant Piccolo was treating this. Treating _him_ , his feelings. He didn’t have a _crush_ on Chi-Chi. She made him feel seen. She made him feel alive. She made him incredibly happy. He wanted to do right by her.

 

“But Gero? He’s your kid’s dad from now on. Get it?”

 

Goku’s jaw locked. He hated this. _He hated everything about it_. Kami patted his back, as if sensing his distress.

 

“You want Mau to live? Your son? No more mooning over the nurse,” Piccolo went on ruthlessly.

 

Goku swallowed the thickness in his throat, clenching and unclenching his fist.

 

“She’s with Gero now.”

 

.

 

.

 

.

 


	46. Chapter 46

_On the other side of Capsule Corp…_

 

 

Bulma was pretty sure her friendship with Chi-Chi was over.

 

“ _How dare you play with our lives, you… you conceited witch!”_

 

She couldn’t blame the woman, but she was still stunned at the amount of vitriol lobbed her way. It made her second-guess all her recent decisions and how everything had transpired. But, Piccolo made it clear that Vegeta _was_ co-operating, as he promised, and told her to keep doing whatever she was doing.

 

She wanted to punch the guy in the face because it was pretty obvious that the sergeant thought what she was “doing” was _Vegeta_ and this was the reward. Why else would she give him such amazing accommodations? Why else was she so lenient and why would he be (seemingly) complacent, even pleasant? She couldn’t wait for Vegeta to teach her how to actually punch properly.

 

“ _You’re not a mother — you wouldn’t understand.”_

 

Panchy, who _insisted_ on bringing dessert up since Vegeta ate dinner alone, sighed noisily beside her.

 

“She’ll forgive you eventually, darling,” her mother said softly.

 

“I don’t think so,” Bulma said, her pace not faltering as they made their way through Capsule Corp’s halls. “You heard her. I’m brainwashed and colluding with a homicidal maniac.”

 

It was hard to disagree with her friend.

 

Ex-friend.

 

“ _I will never forgive you for this. Never!”_

 

“She was scared, upset.”

 

“I get that, mom,” Bulma said, tiredly. “What I don’t get is how this is all _my_ fault.”

 

“It’s unfair, I know, my darling, I know,” her mother responded. “She doesn’t _really_ blame you. Didn’t she come off a double shift? Then Gohan wasn’t being a good boy… and all these secrets out in the open! _Aiyaiyai!_ It’s such a sticky situation.”

 

Understatement of the year.

 

“ _You aren’t even his real aunt.”_

 

Even Bulma was reeling from the revelation that Uncle Ox _knew_ Kakarrot and even helped him escape to Papaya Island. Plus, Chi-Chi was understandably upset at being told to disassociate herself from Kakarrot in order to protect her family.

 

Bulma couldn’t understand why Chi-Chi was so shocked. For god’s sake — the man was an undercover cop associated with the most dangerous criminals in all of West City! She knew the shoe was going to drop eventually, but thought Chi-Chi would be _smart_ enough to know that and would adjust accordingly. Chi-Chi kept saying on and on that cops had families, that they’d handle it.

 

If “handle it” was having a nervous breakdown in full view of her father, the WCPD and herself, then Chi-Chi needed to readjust her expectations.

 

Apparently, the shock of finding out they’d been housing Vegeta all this time was the last straw.

 

“ _He’s not your son!”_

 

“I know mom, I… don’t want to talk about it. This has been a _long_ fucking day,” she said, rubbing her eyes as if to punctuate the point. “And I’m about to walk into the lion’s den so I gotta keep my head straight.”

 

“Oh, that young man is a kitten,” Panchy scoffed.

 

“ _Mom._ Homicidal maniac wasn’t an exaggeration. Oh my god,” Bulma exclaimed, baffled at her mother’s lackadaisical attitude.

 

“Oh, Bulma… we’ve sheltered you too much,” Panchy lamented out loud, shocking her. That would be the last way Bulma would describe her upbringing — they were the epitome of hippie parenting, and let her do what she wanted. She remembered being allowed to play in high-security sections of Capsule Corp and handle weaponry before she was even legal enough to drink.

 

And they pretty much allowed that, too, along with other illicit substances.

 

Panchy laughed lightly, catching Bulma’s disbelieving expression.

 

“I know, we were definitely hands off with you. Still, not sure if you noticed, but we’re filthy rich,” Panchy said in a sing-song amused tone. “And no matter what kind of experiences you have, people you meet — that affects your perspective. I was actually _very_ happy when you told me you wanted to be an ER doctor instead of an engineer. It would expose you to a larger swath of people from _all_ walks of life.”

 

“If you’re trying to point out I’m a privileged white girl, mom, I know,” Bulma said dryly. “That doesn’t change the fact that Vegeta is cray or that he’s dangerous.”

 

“Oh, I’m not disputing that. You misunderstand. I’m saying that all _I_ saw besides how _incredibly fit_ he was—” Panchy paused to giggle, “—is a sad, scared young boy. What happened to him… that sticks to you for _life_.”

 

“First of all, we don’t even know if all of that is true. And he’s not a young boy. He’s a _man_ who’s made adult choices and is dealing with the consequences of his actions,” Bulma said firmly.

 

“That may well be, but he’s our guest now. Your father thinks there’s still hope for him,” Panchy said idly as they rounded a corner up the stairs. “And I trust your father completely.” They reached the door and Panchy angled a knowing gaze toward her. “Apparently, you have that same hope, too.”

 

Bulma sighed. She couldn’t deny that.

 

“Come in,” she heard him say after she knocked.

 

When she opened the door, the first thing Bulma noticed was how dark the room was. Only the lamp by the desk was on and the curtains were thrown wide open, though the sun was currently setting — she suspected that was why he was still standing with his back to them, staring out the window. The gardens looked incredible at dusk.

 

Her mother shuffled quickly to the side desk where Vegeta had cleanly stacked his plates and glass, ready to be taken away.

 

“I hope you’re settling in well!” Panchy chirped, clasping her hands together. Bulma saw him turn his head slightly at her mother’s voice, but still kept his back to them, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his slim-fitting slacks.

 

He cut an incredible silhouette, Bulma thought. He’d changed into some of the new clothes she’d ordered online to tide him over for the next week at least; if he was to be an employee of Capsule Corp, he couldn’t wander around in gym clothes or a jumpsuit.

 

He was wearing only a navy polo and dark slacks with a chevron pattern, but he filled them out in all the right places. She hadn’t thought much about it when she ordered his clothes; she only focused on something that would fit and was appropriate for “business casual.”

 

Nothing was casual about Vegeta.

 

“I brought you some rhubarb pie!” Panchy went on cheerily. “I didn’t bake it myself, but it’s from a nice little bakery down 53st. It’s run by this cute lesbian couple—”

 

“All right, mom, I’m sure the story of pie is extremely fascinating, but it’s getting late and we still have a few things to wrap up for today,” Bulma broke in before her mother went on a long monologue.

 

Vegeta still had his back to them, staring out the window.

 

“Ah, yes, it’s been a long day for everyone,” Panchy continued blithely, not at all deterred by her daughter’s exasperated tone. “Anyway, it was very nice to meet you, _your majesty._ ” Bulma wasn’t sure why her mother curtsied since Vegeta wasn’t even looking. She was glad, because even though she was 34-years-old, she felt 14 around her mother and embarrassed exactly the same way. “I am just right down the hall, so don’t hesitate to ask for anything, and _please_ join us for breakfast. We usually have it at 7:30—”

 

“Mom.”

 

“All right. I’m just trying to be a good host,” the blonde sighed theatrically, then giggled. “You two be good, now!”

 

Panchy gathered the dirty plates and shuffled out of the room the same way she came in.

 

Once the door closed behind her mother, he revealed his profile, though he kept his stance. The last rays of the sun danced around his cheekbones.

 

“Your family is bizarre.”

 

That was one way to put it.

 

Since he seemed reluctant to budge from the window, Bulma decided she was done _fighting_ for the day and met him at his side. She didn’t look at him, but followed his gaze out into the gardens and at the sunset.

 

“Sergeant Piccolo said you were very co-operative,” she said, crossing one arm to grasp her elbow.

 

“That was the deal.” He was matter-of-fact.

 

“Speaking of, I should have a set of house rules ready for you tomorrow morning after breakfast,” Bulma said. “I’ll have an itinerary of sorts, too. Meeting logistics with the WCPD, the type of info we need…”

 

She trailed off and waited for a reaction. She pressed her lips tightly when all he did was nod. She was _so_ fucking tired… the entire day was a rollercoaster.

 

“And we need to schedule some time to go through what you’ve done previously to uncover your past so I don’t waste time going over failed tactics since I only have four weeks to work with,” she continued.

 

“Fine.”

 

Talking to him was like pulling teeth.

 

Bulma wondered how to broach the subject that had been nagging her almost as much as the drama with Chi-Chi. Eventually, she decided there was no need to skirt the issue.

 

“I didn’t know you were in _that_ deep,” she said.

 

He moved his head slightly. “What do you mean?”

 

“Like take over the _entire thing_ deep.” She knew with his intelligence, he wouldn’t _just_ be Frieza’s muscle; but Captain Kami explained that he was essentially considered one of Frieza’s potential _successors_. She hazarded a small look toward him and saw he was now looking at her, too.

 

“Does that bother you?”

 

She didn’t expect that question, but strangely, she wasn’t surprised. He always took things a direction she didn’t expect.

 

“I don’t know. Do you consider misbegotten power and destruction a good life goal?” Her tone was wry, but she was actually serious. She knew he hated Frieza, but now there was the context of _where_ he actually stood in the hierarchy… getting rid of Frieza meant Vegeta could fill the power vacuum.

 

“I do what I need to survive,” he said, doing nothing to ease her worries. He looked back out the window. “What do you think?”

 

“Considering you threw all that in the trash to fulfill some weird revenge fantasy, I’m gonna go ahead and say you don’t really give a shit about Frieza’s empire,” Bulma said boldly, hoping she was right.

 

The corners of his mouth turned upward, but of course he said nothing. Ass.

 

But now she said it out loud, it made sense. It wouldn’t be in his favor to agree out loud, but actions always did speak louder than words. She turned to observe him curiously.

 

“So… what _do_ you give a shit about?”

 

He angled his eyes toward her and looked at her searchingly for a moment, as if gauging whether she was sincerely asking or was making small talk. He turned his gaze back to the gardens.

 

“Justice,” he said.

 

Again, he said something unexpected but this time she _was_ surprised. “Kind of in the wrong line of work for that.”

 

“Everyone who’s perished under my watch deserved to go.”

 

The way he spoke brook no argument and no emotion, though she noted how carefully he phrased that. He took responsibility without actually out-and-out stating he’d offed people. Bulma realized he considered himself some sort of twisted vigilante.

 

“All of it to benefit Frieza Kold — and god knows how many people died due to your complicity,” Bulma pointed out coldly.

 

“I’ve mitigated damage where I could,” he said calmly. “I heard that since I’ve been gone, violence has gone up. _Not_ a coincidence.”

 

“An assassin with a heart of gold,” Bulma snorted, rolling her eyes.

 

“No,” he said, his voice remaining even. “I hate waste. I like a good challenge. What is the value in harming those who cannot defend themselves?”

 

“Ask yourself that when you kidnapped a little boy?” Bulma snapped, anger stirring in her heart as Chi-Chi’s sharp words sliced through her mind.

 

He glanced at her briefly and heaved a small sigh. “He was unharmed.”

 

“He’s not even Kakarrot’s son,” Bulma added as an afterthought.

 

At that, he furrowed his brows slightly though he kept staring forward. After a few moments of absorbing her words: “You said no more games. I assumed that was on _both_ our ends.”

 

Bulma swallowed her own sigh. She knew it would be futile to even _try_ to push this cockamamie scheme toward Vegeta — the man was _perceptive_. She tried to say as much but really couldn’t get a word in edgewise when Chi-Chi had her breakdown. In the end, it was Lapis on the phone who explained the entire _messy_ circumstance and his part in it that convinced her to _try_ to push this narrative forward.

 

“This isn’t a game,” she said finally, truthfully. None of this was fun. She had no wish to play with the lives of her friends, despite what Chi-Chi thought.

 

His lips thinned, his expression turning thoughtful. “I understand trust is earned. But I expected to complete the _first_ day of this journey without pretense.”

 

“Didn’t you once tell me that only stupid people know everything?” Bulma threw back, undeterred. She wasn’t going to get him to guilt her to throw her off-track. He was a manipulative _criminal_. “Didn’t know you could gather DNA samples then expedite a paternity test in the few hours it took to kidnap me and rifle through all my contacts. I don’t even know how you got to the conclusion that Gohan was his kid. All you ended up doing was terrorize innocent people, myself included.”

 

“I have eyes. The child is his replica.” He started to sound genuinely irritated.

 

“Right. A half-Asian kid immediately means Kakarrot is his dad,” Bulma drawled sarcastically, rolling her eyes. “Plus, he looks more like Chi-Chi. You were just crazy with revenge and looked for the first thing to target. So don’t talk about avoiding the helpless like you’re some altruistic dark angel. Give me a break!”

 

He was scowling at her now and she gave him her best return glare.

 

“Chi-Chi and Gohan are _innocent_ in all this.” That was 100% true. “The only thing they’re guilty of is _knowing_ us.” Also true. “Kakarrot’s just some guy that Chi-Chi knew from her hometown.” No lies here.

 

She gestured at herself. “By the way, speaking of helpless and innocent — I didn’t even fucking _know_ Kakarrot! I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time, thanks to you! What’s your excuse for harming me? Kidnapping _me?”_

 

He crossed his arms and looked away. Her point was made.

 

While Bulma started this rant as a way to convince him that Kakarrot wasn’t Gohan’s father, once her words were out, she realized she wanted _answers_. She was still very affected at what had transpired, though she wasn’t as much scared as she was hurt and upset.

 

“Do the ends justify the means? You are _so_ full of bullshit. You say _I’m_ no better than Frieza Kold? Sounds like someone needs to take a good, full look in the mirror!”

 

Her voice broke at the end of her sentence, which she _hated_ so she took a shaky breath to steady herself. She was nearing the end of her rope… she honestly hadn’t meant to start _another_ argument. She was done with yelling and fights.

 

She was done having to fight for _herself_ , to defend herself, over and over.

 

She was tired. Inside and out.

 

“You’ve had _plenty_ of chances to take your revenge!” he practically growled, all calm pretense gone, replaced with frustration. He didn’t even have the grace to look at her, though, which only added to Bulma’s own irritation.

 

Bulma threw her hands up in the air. “The world isn’t black and white! Why the hell is the choice between life and death? Revenge and complete absolution? You hurt me, but it doesn’t make me happy to see _you_ hurt!”

 

It didn’t. It defied all sense but there it was. Even all the way back at the hospital, when she saw how miserable he was, it only hurt her heart. She was done beating herself up for who she was, how she felt. Chi-Chi was a great example of what denial could do to a person.

 

 _Finally_ , he whirled toward her, confusion apparent on every angle of his face.

 

“What do you want from me?!”

 

“I want you to acknowledge what you’ve done!” Bulma exclaimed.

 

He seemed flabbergasted at her answer. “Where have I denied my place in this?”

 

Bulma wanted to throttle him. “That’s not what I meant. You’re _dismissive_ as hell. You don’t take _ownership!_ You say you take responsibility but don’t carry the weight of your choices.”

 

His eyes went to the ceiling and held his breath for a moment. “You know nothing about consequence. You have _no_ idea what burden I carry.” He practically spat the words through grit teeth. “Do you expect me to grovel and prostate myself? You don’t get to dictate how I behave any more than I can with you — because if I could, we’d be having a _completely_ different conversation right now.”

 

A frisson of awareness jolted through her as his eyes, so dark and bottomless, raked through her form.

 

“We wouldn’t be talking at all.”

 

Instinctively, Bulma crossed her arms, as if that would somehow protect her from his scrutiny, to block the way he affected her.

 

He stepped toward her and it took all her willpower not to stumble back. She raised her chin, but shook slightly when he got close enough to touch her… but not quite.

 

“So tell me,” he went on, leaning slightly to murmur against her ear. His cheek scraped lightly against hers. “What do you want?”

 

 _Oh god, provoking him was a mistake,_ Bulma thought, as her pulse hammered wildly against her throat. It was hard to think when he was near like this, where she could feel the heat radiating from his body, could smell the fragrance of his shampoo mixed with his own scent, which she’d always loved.

 

Even angry — maybe even _because_ she was — Bulma was intensely drawn to Vegeta. The wrongness of it all teased the back of her mind… everyone thought they were already sleeping with each other.

 

Why not make it a reality?

 

She closed her eyes for a moment to savor their proximity…

 

… then Bulma took a determined step back, forcing herself to regain her senses.

 

No.

 

He just showed his hand. He _wanted_ her attention.

 

… Maybe even her affection?

 

He had to _earn_ it first.

 

“I want you to think about what it means to resolve conflict _without_ manipulation. Like I was someone you respected,” she said with a serious nod. He straightened away from her, startled at where she had taken this. But she had a point she needed to make.

 

She pressed a hand to her chest and stared at him unflinchingly.

 

“And maybe then, I can learn to forgive you.”

 

He blinked rapidly in response, but otherwise kept his face impassive.

 

“What’s it like to deal with shit without resorting to _violence?_ ” She paused, then pleaded with her eyes. “Against _anyone_ , but most of all, against yourself?”

 

They stared at each other silently for what seemed like an eternity. She wished he understood that she truly did want the best for him. For _everyone_. She suspected this was what her father meant about hard choices, what it meant to _lead_ … this was what it meant to be a Briefs.

 

A muscle ticked against his cheek.

 

“Good night, Vegeta,” she said softly, then turned and left.

 

.

.

.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of ironic all this talk about manipulation, Bulma. Whatchu think you're doing? ;-)


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's going to jump around between reminiscing and time and narratives. Hope you can follow.

_Now, Present Day…_

 

 

“Chi-Chi.”

 

Chi-Chi stared listlessly ahead, drained of all emotion. Just over an hour ago, she was fiery ball of pent up rage and already, regret was beginning to seep in. She didn’t mean it, she wanted to scream, but it was too late.

 

She couldn’t yell at her father because… well, that would never do and they’d hardly had an argument in the almost-29 years of her life. Sergeant Piccolo terrified her and Captain Kami looked like a grandpa so yelling at them was moot.

 

Bad news after bad news, Chi-Chi tried to absorb and work through it all, as tension mounted inside. But when Bulma mentioned that she’d _personally_ been dealing with the man that kidnapped _Gohan_ , a red mist blinded her.

 

Bulma wasn’t at fault, she knew that. She was only doing what she thought was right to control the situation. Maybe even get some weird revenge, who knew? Bulma was as much as victim of all this, Chi-Chi understood… but the knowledge that her _best friend_ had hidden all this from her _and_ was hosting the man that was the root of all their current pain—!

 

Okay, Chi-Chi was _definitely_ still upset at Bulma, but she certainly didn’t deserve the amount of poison she spat her way. Chi-Chi was more accurately angry at her father, Sergeant Piccolo, Captain Kami, Lapis…!

 

Oh, Lapis!

 

“ _Korzen was good at his job.”_ Lapis’ voice rang clear in her mind, _“Too good. So good that Frieza started to trust him over his other favorites.”_

 

She couldn’t believe for _all these years_ , Lapis had lied to her face, had hidden so much.

 

All. This. Time.

 

“Chi-Chi, honey, please. Talk to me,” her father pleaded quietly at the side. Chi-Chi didn’t look at him, but focused her attention on Gohan and Krillin not too far away, racing toy cars on the floor.

 

“What else is there to say?” Chi-Chi said dully.

 

“You heard Lapis. It’s what’s kept you safe — you _and_ Gohan safe all these years.”

 

“I know, Papa,” she said with a small sigh, still refusing to look at him. She knew they all meant well, and everything sounded logical. But this was her _life_. It made her feel like any sense of control she had had been an illusion.

 

But she only had herself to blame, didn’t she? She kept her own secrets, told her own lies — she was the greatest hypocrite to be this upset, but it didn’t change how hurt and scared she was.

 

Broken-hearted.

 

Her call with Lapis replayed over and over in her mind:

 

“ _We heard rumblings that Frieza’s deputies were not happy… rumors of new alliances, being usurped. Shit like that.”_

 

“ _What’s that have to do with me a-and Gohan?”_

 

Chi-Chi shuddered slightly at the memory. It was so much to take in to know how much had been at stake, how little she had known what danger she had been in. She had been so caught up in the drama with Kakarrot and unwilling to take in the reality of who he actually was.

 

All she’d been concerned about was being together.

 

She’d been so foolish. Selfish. Short-sighted.

 

Then.

 

 _Now_.

 

Chi-Chi pressed her lips together as a new wave of emotion washed through her as she watched Gohan laugh and play with Krillin.

 

She needed to protect him at _all costs_.

 

“ _Chi, they were looking for Korzens’s weakness… and they found you.”_

 

It was time to grow up.

 

The sound of steps broke her reverie and she saw Goku emerge with Piccolo and Kami close behind. There wasn’t any way to describe his expression but _grim_ , and dear god, he looked so much like Kakarrot.

 

Because he _was_ Kakarrot.

 

It was time to face reality. He wasn’t a man reborn. She wasn’t stuck in a time loop and he wasn’t a doppelganger.

 

He was the _same_ man, with the same issues as before.

 

Chi-Chi felt disconnected from her body as she rose to her feet to meet them.

 

“It’s late. Gohan should go to bed,” Kakarrot said, as he watched Krillin distract Gohan from a distance. Chi-Chi’s heart clenched. His first thought, his first words were for his son…

 

“Sorry for taking so long,” Kami added. “As it’s late, could we reconvene tomorrow, if that suits you, Mr. Mau?”

 

“I don’t mind staying for a bit more to explain Kakarrot’s journey to Papaya Island, as long as you don’t mind,” Ox said, turning to Gok— _Kakarrot_.

 

“I think when we’ve all had a good night’s sleep we’ll be more productive. One more day won’t change things,” Kakarrot said. Finally, he turned to her and Chi-Chi braced herself — she wasn’t sure for what, since his expression was shuttered and unreadable.

 

Like Kakarrot’s.

 

“I’d like to talk to you before you go,” he said, his tone and expression betraying nothing but that grim weariness. It wasn’t a request.

 

Kakarrot didn’t wait for her to say anything before he turned his heel and went straight back toward the dining area. Chi-Chi tried not to feel too self-conscious as Kami and Piccolo flashed her varying looks of judgment, annoyance (mostly Piccolo) and pity (mostly Kami).

 

She couldn’t blame them.

 

She was the reason for this mess.

 

“Chi-Chi—”

 

She turned to her father and patted his arm soothingly. “I’ll be fine. I need to talk to him sooner or later.”

 

She thought it was rather ironic that _she_ was the one comforting her father when she was the one who had to have the difficult conversation.

 

She squared her shoulders and followed Kakarrot’s lead to the dining room where he waited for her, arms closed, his face a blank mask. But while expressionless, there was a heaviness in the room, a tension that thrummed in waves from his tense form.

 

They stared at each other quietly and her mind went blank. She knew what she had to say, but now, alone, her throat was already fast closing up.

 

“I’m trying not to be angry with you, but it’s… I’m having a hard time. Explain to me how you went from us dealing with everything as a _family_ to _this,”_ Kakarrot said, breaking the silence, as frank and as clear as ever.

 

Chi-Chi had twisted herself into knots trying to find another way to deal with this. Kami said there was always witness protection, but that meant uprooting them with no end date in sight, and of course, Kakarrot wouldn’t be joining them. It was more of a last resort, since the act would be a giant signal to anyone watching that something was up.

 

And they were being watched.

 

She wanted to tell Kakarrot that they should run away together — the thought entered her mind more than once — but they’d be living a life always turning their head, looking over their shoulder. They wouldn’t be able to look after Gohan all hours of the day.

 

“I know you want what’s best for Gohan,” she said finally, choosing to focus on the obvious.

 

“Is it a great idea to keep him away from his father — his _real_ one?”

 

Chi-Chi immediately felt defensive. “You told me that if you had to, you could stay away. This is it.”

 

“He’s in law enforcement. He’s after Kold, too. How’s the risk _lower?_ ”

 

There needed to be no explanation as to who “he” was referring.

 

“Lapis is backed by the _full_ force of the FBI _,_ Kakarrot!” Chi-Chi exclaimed and she knew he tensed at her use of his _real_ name. “And he’s… God, I’m sorry. He’s been an active agent for _ten_ years straight. He...” Chi-Chi swallowed a turmoil of feelings. She was _so angry_ at Lapis for all the betrayal and lies. And yet…

 

… he was the reason she and Gohan had remained _safe_ all the years Kakarrot was away. She was grateful and upset and confused.

 

Chi-Chi felt extremely uncomfortable about what she had to say next. “He doesn’t have to _remember_ wh-what to do in an emergency.”

 

Kakarrot’s complexion turned ashen.

 

“He can… protect us.”

 

Chi-Chi knew she hurt Kakarrot immensely with those words. He was gripping the back of a dining chair so tightly, she thought it might break under the force of his fingers. Chi-Chi was basically telling him that she didn’t trust him, and she supposed in some ways, that was true. She didn’t _want_ it to be true, but despite how he handled The Prince, how much he _already_ remembered…

 

It wasn’t enough.

 

Bulma had angrily brought up her iPad and tapped Kakarrot’s medical chart over and over.

 

“Wake up!” the heiress had shouted.

 

“I need — _we_ need you as _Kakarrot._ Piccolo said you were the _best_ the WCPD had seen,” Chi-Chi said.

 

Chi-Chi gave a watery chuckle because the sergeant had grimaced while trying to explain. In his mean way, he had been trying to stiltedly comfort her while she’d had her public breakdown. Piccolo had added that he would’ve cosigned what Kakarrot would’ve plotted instead — but without many options, Lapis’ expertise wasn’t one to scoff at, either.

 

It worked for _five years_ , after all. _Still._

 

“But you’re not there yet,” Chi-Chi added sadly.

 

The “maybe never will be” hung silently in the air.

 

To her, she didn’t care. She loved him as Goku as much as she loved him as Kakarrot. But the circumstances...

 

“ _They didn’t know it was you, specifically… but they knew enough. Two women, separate incidents — both named Florence. One was run over by a car. The other attacked and logged as a random robbery.”_

 

As far as everyone who’d been stalking Kakarrot under Kold, Chi-Chi had been a cold lead and wasn’t the “real Florence.”

 

Lapis was a poor stand-in for Kakarrot, as far Chi-Chi was concerned, and there were still _risks_ with this awful scheme. But considering Lapis had _proven_ it to work already — completely under everyone’s their nose, for an entire five years — Chi-Chi had no choice.

 

She didn’t much consider her own safety, but Gohan’s life was on the line. The _less_ risks, the better.

 

He tore his gaze away. “I see.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

It was the most inadequate phrase. She was glad, though, that she’d sufficiently calmed down… she wasn’t sure what would have happened if he had been in the same room when all the devastating news came pouring in.

 

Kakarrot was certainly handling this _way_ better than she had.

 

“So am I,” he said, still not looking at her. She wanted to reach out to him, to lend him comfort, and it was taking everything she had to not throw herself at him and wish all this misery away.

 

She didn’t want this. She didn’t ask for this.

 

“I shouldn’t have left Papaya Island,” he said softly after a few more moments of silence. She opened her mouth to protest when he shook his head, his expression a mixture of self-deprecation and regret. “You’re right. I’m not Kakarrot. I’m not what you need.”

 

Moisture stuck to Chi-Chi’s lashes. She wanted to scream and tell him, no, he was wrong. She _did_ need him. Yes, she learned to live without him for five years — but that was before she saw how great he was with Gohan. Before he held her again. Before he looked at her like she was the only woman in the world.

 

Now, she felt like she was dying inside and she could already see the stirrings of resentment forming in his dark eyes. It was torture, watching the anguish form on Kakarrot’s face. It felt worse than when she thought he’d abandoned her.

 

Now she was abandoning _him_.

 

“We have to face the facts,” Chi-Chi said as sensibly as she could, but her voice wobbled. “You have to finish this. Even with _all this —_ there are still no guarantees… Gohan won’t be safe until—”

 

“I understand,” he interrupted, and he looked mildly irritated. “I’m, you know, actually his father and still care about his welfare.”

 

Chi-Chi bit her tongue, though her cheeks flushed with annoyance. He was angry and if this was the _worst_ of his reaction, she knew she was lucky. Her own reaction pretty much laid her entire friendship with Bulma to waste.

 

She nodded and shifted her feet awkwardly.

 

They were only a few feet away but it felt like an entire gulf had opened up between them.

 

“Gohan needs to go to bed,” Chi-Chi echoed Kakarrot’s earlier statement when the seconds continued to tick by in suffocating silence.

 

“That’s all you have left to say?” His tone was heavy with disbelief.

 

What was there left to hash out?

 

When Chi-Chi said nothing, Kakarrot shook his head and ran his hands through his hair, disheveling it completely.

 

“You’re not who I thought you were,” he said finally.

 

Chi-Chi’s jaw tightened and she blinked back furious tears.

 

“Actually, you don’t know me at all,” she said hoarsely, before she bolted from the dining room.

 

.

.

.

 

Later, much later, Goku was bowled over his bathroom sink splashing water over his face. He gripped the sides of the white porcelain bowl and stared up at his reflexion. His red-rimmed eyes and sickly pallor were all symptoms of one of the worst days he could remember.

 

Of what little he did, anyway.

 

He opened the medicine cabinet and grabbed his bottle of SenzuB mechanically, dropping the two usual pills he was meant to take for the evening.

 

He started to lift his hand to toss it back when he paused and stared at his palm.

 

His entire apartment was still and he absolutely _hated_ knowing why.

 

He continued staring at his palm.

 

Two pills turned to four, then eight.

 

Why not ten?

 

He lost count.

 

.

.

.

 

“Guess who stopped by today?”

 

Goku looked up from the cafe table he was sitting on and looked at his surroundings. He was… in a deli?

 

“Who?” he drawled and watched a tiny dark-haired woman who had her hair pulled back in a red bandana skip toward him.

 

She plunked a plate with a tall roast beef sandwich in front of him before she nudged her elbow against his side repeatedly. He protested at the jostling but wasn’t annoyed at all. In fact, he felt a surge of affection toward the woman.

 

“Princess Polly,” his mother said in a sing-song voice.

  
He groaned. “ _M_ _aaaaa_ _a_.”

 

Oh, wow. This woman was his mother? She seemed really young…

 

“She is such a _sweet_ little thing,” his mother gushed. “So cute and polite. She asked about you, you know.”

 

“What do you mean? What’d she say?” he found himself unable to stop from asking.

 

His mother continued to elbow him. “Aha! I _knew_ it. Mothers know these things.”

 

“ _Ma._ What’d she say?” Goku bit out, his face heating. The tiny woman in front of him wiggled her brows comically.

 

“Ohhhh… you know. That you played great last weekend and asked how you were.”

 

Goku rolled his eyes, but felt his face heat up further. “Okay. Sure.”

 

“I told her you weren’t dating anyone.”

 

“ _Ma!_ That’s enough. You know she’s outta my league,” he mumbled into his sandwich. He spat out the food when she smacked him behind the head. For a small woman, she packed a heavy hand.

 

“Shut your mouth. She would be _lucky_ to be with such a sweet boy,” his mother went on sternly, pinching his cheek for emphasis. “Where do you get such stupid ideas?”

 

“Ma, c’mon,” he sighed, as he rubbed his sore cheek.

 

Who was Polly? What was going on? Goku wondered.

 

“Kakarrot Korzen,” his mother’s voice sharpened as her hands went to her hips. “You are _a Saiyan._ I won’t tolerate cowardly behavior from you. She comes by half the time hoping to see you, you know. My sandwiches aren’t _that_ great.”

 

“Shut up, ma. Yes, they are,” he said with a determined bite of the sandwich.

 

“At the end of the day, Chi-Chi Mau’s just a girl. Forget all the stupid princess stuff. You go ask that girl out,” his mother told him frankly, startling Goku. What did… Chi-Chi…?

 

Slowly, it dawned on him. His mother called _Chi-Chi_ “Princess Polly” for some reason.

 

“Or are you saying this _family_ isn’t good enough? Is that it?” his mother asked softly. At that, Goku shook his head rapidly.

 

“Don’t be dumb, ma. ‘Course not,” he said fiercely.  


 

“You are not your brother,” she said. “And if she judges you for what _he’s_ done, a _completely_ different person, then she isn’t worth it, baby.”

 

“I know that,” he said, with a frown.

 

“You don’t know what your brother’s been through,” his mother went on, her tone serious. Goku nodded and it sounded like something his mother had said over and over before, making excuses for Raditz.

 

“Right,” Goku said and he knew he was restraining himself from saying more, biting his tongue to not upset his mother.

 

His mother stared at him while he chewed his sandwich and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re a good boy, Kakarrot.”

 

“Ma.” He felt a little embarrassed but pleased at the same time.

 

“Ask her out,” she said again, patting his cheek.

 

.

.

.

 

“Cancer.”

 

Goku felt his stomach drop and someone grab his hand.

 

Suddenly, a door slammed and he jumped in his seat, turning his head to see a man with scraggly hair run off through the glass wall. He looked down at the hand and followed the arm to the pale woman sitting beside him. He craned his head to the other side of the woman — his mother, the one from the deli, he realized — and observed a man that very much resembled him — or _he_ resembled — with a scar on his cheek.

 

… his father?

 

The man nodded shortly, his face betraying absolutely nothing at the devastating news just thrown on their laps.

 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” his mother repeated, squeezing his hand, looking to her left at him, and to her right to his father. “We’re Saiyans. We’ve been through worse.”

 

“Ma,” Goku burst out, strangled.

 

“What are our options?” his father asked evenly, his voice calm. Goku felt resentment rise in him — how could he be _so_ calm? How could he just stare at the doctor like they were discussing the décor and was asking about paint swatches?!

 

The oncologist in front of them sighed heavily. “Gine is already in stage four. It’s an aggressive malignancy and in a position that surgery won’t alleviate. Chemo, of course, can help slow it down. But even then, it won’t necessarily be pleasant. But, if she’s careful, she can make it a year. I’ve had some make it to two years.”

 

His mother’s hand clenched in his. “Yes, of course.”

 

Goku was crying openly now. He felt _ashamed_ of this show of emotion, but he couldn’t help himself. He was _devastated_. He only had his mother for a _year — maybe?_ He felt worse that even though he was completely healthy, it was his mother rubbing his back soothingly as he broke down.

 

He was a twenty-one year old man, but he felt like a baby who just wanted his mother to be by his side always.

 

“Kakarrot,” his father said sharply. “You’re upsetting your mother.”

 

“Bardock, shut up,” Gine exclaimed and smacked the man beside her. “He’s fine. Kakarrot, baby, it’s okay. I’m still here.”

 

“What are our next steps?” Bardock broke in, still with that stern, unmoving tone.

 

Goku shot to his feet and tore himself away from his mother’s arms, running out the room exactly like Raditz did earlier.

 

.

.

.

 

Goku whirled around, suddenly jarred. He was no longer at the clinic, but _this_ place looked so familiar—

 

All at once, he realized he was at Captain Kami’s office. He was sitting ramrod straight on a chair across from Kami’s large desk, holding a formal cap on his lap. He looked down.

 

He was wearing a cadet uniform.

 

“You are, I’m sure, aware that your brother Raditz has been recently arrested,” Kami broke in calmly. Goku locked his jaw and tried not to let the pain of the situation get to him. He was _so angry_ at Raditz, he wasn’t sure if he could _ever_ forgive how he acted the last months of their mother’s life…

 

“Yes,” Goku said shortly.

 

“Do you know _why?_ ” Kami prodded.

 

Honestly, he didn’t. He basically stopped talking to Raditz when he went on that drug and alcohol bender after their mother was wheeled into the hospital for palliative care, her final days.

 

Goku shook his head.

 

“Fucking liar,” Piccolo spat.

 

“Excuse me, but why are you speaking to me this way?” Goku broke in fiercely, baffled that a superior was speaking so harshly to him and they had just met. “Have I done something offensive?”

 

“Yeah. _Exist_ ,” Piccolo snapped.

 

Kami lifted a calming hand as Goku worked his jaw, trying to keep his temper in check. “I apologize for Sergeant Piccolo’s… colorful language. Let’s get to the subject at hand: your brother has been associating himself with a new concerning group of people. The Saiyans. Have you heard of them?”

 

Goku jerked in his seat. His mother and father told them that they were one of the only survivors of an ethnic cleansing. It was why they were so protective and proud of their heritage. They knew no one else like them, though if _his_ family survived _—_

 

There were others?

 

In _West City_ no less?

 

“That’s not possible,” Goku said finally.

 

“Why, because you can’t imagine your brother falling into the wrong crowd?!” Piccolo practically crowed.

 

“Saiyans are not a _gang name_. They are people from a… a country in Europe that no longer exists,” Goku said heavily. He hated having to explain it to people because all it reminded him was how little the world remembered, how little the world _cared_ about things that didn’t concern them.

 

Saiyans were all but forgotten.

 

Kami and Piccolo exchanged looks.

 

“Hm,” Captain Kami said, and exchanged another incomprehensible look with Piccolo. “Thank you for that insight, Mr. Korzen. At any rate, this group have been calling themselves Saiyans. They’ve been linked to a variety of violent incidents. Of which your brother was a part.”

 

Goku pressed his lips together in displeasure. He hated this. He hated hearing about all the messed up things Raditz was a part of and when his mother got sick, his entire perspective in life changed. That was why he switched majors at university from education and physical ed, to a focus on criminology and law, then went to the police academy — to _stop_ people like him, to do _good_ , maybe restore the balance a little.

 

“This leaves an opening,” Piccolo said, confusing Goku.

 

Kami and Piccolo exchanged looks again, before the older man took a post-it note and scribbled something down on it.

 

“Why am I here, Captain?” Goku asked softly.

 

Kami leaned over and handed him a piece of paper with a large number with a dollar sign in front.

 

“Sergeant Piccolo and I head the special investigations unit here at the WCPD,” Kami explained. “Specifically, investigation against Frieza Kold. Your brother’s arrest is unfortunate but it presents an interesting opportunity for us. For _you._ We feel you are well positioned to infiltrate the Kold crime syndicate through this Saiyan connection.”

 

Goku’s head jerked. “Excuse me?”

 

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeaaaahhh so totally cribbed the entire recruitment scene from The Departed, haha. :)


End file.
